Sin: Wings of the Damned
by Atrinity
Summary: A story about two rival Kingdoms, raised by Ancient Gods and graced with wings of flight, and the journey of two Royal families as they fight to protect all they hold dear from an incoming Darkness. Evil dragons, powerful witches, beautiful Princesses, and clever Princes contribute to this tale, every character unknowingly revolving around one thing: The Prophecy of Liron.
1. Prologue

**AN: **I just want to let you guys know that this is my first fanfic. I also have no editor, so if there are mistakes, I apologize. I got some ideas for this story from the game_ Aion_ (hence the whole races/wings thing). The plot, however, is entirely my own.

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**Seventeen Years Before**

**The Arrival**

**Prologue**

Ripping winds howled in circles around the manor, beating against the rich wooden walls with intense fists. Even the dancing flames in the gigantic fireplace flitted from side to side with stress, as if scratching the stone path upwards into the chimney for an escape route from the awful beasts yearning to come inside. A woman was huddled in the middle of the wide open parlor, sitting still upon the soft fur rug, wearing a long white gown made in silk. An array of candles surrounded her that whispered safety with their light.

Her movements were small and the sounds that escaped her lips were hushed, like soft music, to soothe the crying tiny child she kept close to her chest. Her glittering eyes begged for the release of tears herself but she held them back like a rein, knowing that they still had a chance. If Angelus had succeeded with the Fairies, and if her spell worked, the chance must be enough for them. It had to be.

_It will be._

The woman peered down at the gurgling baby girl in her warm arms. The infant was wrapped tightly in her father's furs. Her miniature chubby hands outstretched the grasp the air, the tips of her fingertips brushing against her mother's jaw as she smiled in loving admiration. Her newborn eyes were open and bright, and the woman, the mother, could hardly hold back her pride at that moment as she recognized where her baby's eyes had originated from. But the pride diminished as she saw tears of fright fill the infant, and so she instinctively began to rock her, once again, coaxing her to be quiet. _You have to be quiet now, love. Just a little longer. _

She held her child closer and persistently pushed away her burning anxiety like waves slamming against the barriers of her mind. Her baby girl was only four months old. Four months of being with her was not enough. She was going to protect her virtue with all the might she possessed, even if it was the monster they were facing; this was her baby, her child—a part of her, forged by a powerful bond more glorious than magic. It was not impossible to overthrow a God by destiny's will. The magic of the Fairies and her own power combined could take out entire species over a few hours, so certainly they could hold an angry God back from taking what's most precious.

But something was really wrong. Something was pulling at her magic, provoking it like an arrogant snake. It was something a witch would most dread. The candles' flames hissed at the dark entity close by as they were the only thing standing in its way if she lost the rest of her waning power. Time was vanishing.

_I will not let go. I will not lose my baby._

She hummed sweet lullabies, her breath tickling her baby's ear pleasantly. Lips pressed against the soft ivory skin of her little girl, she felt determined to take out the thunderous storm from her infant's hearing. She was sure that the monsters crying in the wind outside were calling her baby's name in their sing-song voices.

Her breathing, now becoming uneven with grief and desperation, halted in her chest. She shakily whispered charms of strength into her ears when she knew the feeling she was experiencing was her magic diminishing, the only thing keeping them safe. Dread filled her body, but she didn't dare let it crumble their slippery hope.

"_Shhh_, it's going to be okay," she murmured as she buried her face into the damp furs. She wasn't sure who she was telling that to—her baby girl, or herself. Her pale hands were trembling. She hadn't realized that hot tears had already escaped her bloodshot eyes which made her mind race hysterically. She never cried. "It's going to be okay, love, I promise. Don't cry, sweet baby. Be quiet for mama now. You have to be quiet."

Her father would never let anything happen unless something terrible stopped him first. He'd be murdered before he let anyone, powerful God or not, take away their newborn. She bit back more burning pain; _he'd_ never seen her cry either. Witches don't cry, and yet she found herself losing her mind over this baby.

Panic shot through her like lightning. _This_ is what it felt to be mortal. To care, to be possessive.

Her baby. _She's mine. _

_No one can take her._

_Mine._

The glass in the windows shattered open and rained against the woman and the shivering baby girl. Diminishing magic blocked the shards, but the wooden door splintered in impact to the intruder and it was blown into the nest with a blinding flash of strength. The woman ducked, hovering over her baby, as the door flew over their head.

Lightning flashed and a silhouette of a woman stood at the doorway, sodden with rain, but illuminated with gifted power. Temporary power. It wasn't hers—so whom did it belong to?

The woman's silky, hypnotizing voice broke the dream. "It's time."


	2. The Dream

**AN: **This story is split into time chunks. The prologue was seventeen years before the actual date of the story. This chapter, as titled below, is two years before the actual date of the story. In chapter four, it'll be one year. All of this leads up to the present time of the action. Just so you know. Also, I apologize for how cheesy these first chapters are gonna be... I assure you, I wrote them this way on purpose.

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**Two Years Before**

**"Apprentice of Pride"**

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**Chapter One**

**The Dream**

"How lovely," A young girl, fragile at the sight and soft at every gesture, gently caressed the white gown with anticipation. She twirled with the fabric in her hands, admiring how the light bounced off the streaming material. It reminded her of dragons, with their tails in the wind.

They stood in a nest of white flowers, up in the many branching towers of the Hollow, where the wide windows overlooked the bright sea and the translucent curtains swayed in the breeze. It smelled of vanilla from the candles and the faint scent of the salty water could be found coming from the open air outside.

"Do you really think he will ask my father?" She asked worriedly.

"Of course!" Shantaina replied encouragingly, her voice rising at the end almost like a squeak. "Everybody knows, Sia. He'll ask. How could he not?"

The girl, Siarya, giggled softly to herself as she pressed the silk to her pink lips. "I want to do it in a church. I want bunches of roses and lights, with satin sheets and large windows. Do you think my veil should be long?"

"Yes. But why satin? Why not silk?"

"Shan!" Siarya exclaimed with a horrified expression; the statement was obviously insane. "The gown is silk. How could I look radiant when my gown would be made of the same material as the table sheets?"

"You'll look radiant either way," Julietta reassured her as she appeared out from behind the curtains. In her nimble hands she held a lengthy and detailed snow white veil. "A gift for a wonderful Princess of Sephoria."

"Oh, Julietta!" Siarya cried out, blushing. She rushed forward to hold the beautiful piece of artwork in her own hands as if to see it was truly real. "It's absolutely wonderful. I just cannot believe my dream is coming true."

"Julietta, don't rush yourself, darling," Elizabeth eyed the veil tastefully. "She hasn't even been proposed to yet."

"But it's going to happen," Shantaina added quickly before Siarya could reply. "_Everyone_ knows."

"The word going around is that William will ask the King for the Princess's hand in marriage; _Sia's _hand in particular." Julietta told Elizabeth matter-of-factly. Her tone, or really all of their voices combined, was way too enthusiastic. But Siarya, oblivious, was too busy becoming lost in the joy of this overly-forceful occasion.

"Oh, and if he does," Siarya closed her eyes blissfully, taking in a breath as she rubbed the veil gently across her cheek. She imagined William, in all of his handsome qualities and brute strength, standing by her side as the mighty husband of her marvelous self. Oh and how_ she_ was an amazing creature. Siarya thought of incredible self everyday. "We shall be together. Can't you see it?"

"A handsome warrior for such a lovely Princess."

"Especially with the Drovanians." Elizabeth added.

Everyone looked at her strangely, and she shrugged it off with a blush in her cheeks.

"Let's not talk about our enemy," Siarya suggested lightly. "I've had enough talk and thoughts of terrible things already."

"You don't mean..?" Julietta tilted her head, slightly confused, until she could comprehend the message. It usually took a while for the girls to understand things. "Oh, you've been having that awful dream again, haven't you? I'm telling you, it's the _nerves._ I remember when Brandon asked for my hand, oh my goodness—"

"Yes, yes, I know. The nerves like to poke fun at me. I just cannot wait until we're married and then everything will be so much better. I'll be with the most handsome and qualified young man available with everything I ever wanted!" Siarya lied about the anxiety, but her friend's giggled in delight, oblivious to her thoughts.

Why should she feel nervous? She was the most beautiful lady in William's attractive view. She had him wrapped around her finger just like she had intended him to be; just like everyone had always been. But the nightmare was a vision of something odd and terrible and she had never quite understood where it had come from. A mother protecting her baby from something terrible attempting to invade the dark-wooded manor with a gigantic fireplace. The woman was only a vague vision; her actual appearance had been lost a long time ago in Siarya's memories.

But Siarya had never been to a place like that, wherever it was. She had never witnessed a catastrophe such as what had occurred in her dreams; it almost seemed magical. The mother must have been different. The feeling that a _God_ was after them simply closed the deal that it was truly all nonsense. All kingdoms were aware that there were only two Gods, and they were the kindest of beings.

"Oh, Sia! I'm so happy for you." Shantaina hugged her lovingly, chasing her away from the thoughts of the strange dreams. "He's so strong and handsome. You will make a wonderful pair."

Siarya squealed, officially lost in the splendor once more, hopping up and down with the girls in excitement. "_Me_, the wife of William! I can see it now."

Right from the moment when she had met William at a Royal tournament, she had recognized his handsomeness and wits. She had fallen for him instantly as he had swept her up with his muscular arms and gazed into her eyes with his dazzling ones.

"Tis' true love that brought you two together," Elizabeth planted the veil softly upon her golden head. "Saying otherwise would be a lie. How do you think you look?"

Julietta brought the silver-rimmed mirror to Siarya for her to see her glowing face. Her cheeks were a light rosy pink from cheer. She complimented herself mentally, studying carefully and within great detail how her long, gentle waves of blonde hair cascaded down her back, somehow still visible through the delicate veil. Her lips were a shade of sweet strawberries. Gazing at her reflection, she felt glorious as she marveled at her bright, silvery blue eyes. _I am so beautiful. I am so much better than everyone. _

And if anyone were to count, they'd see that Siarya adored looking at herself in the mirror more than twenty times a day.

The three radiant faces of Julietta, Shantaina, and Elizabeth appeared behind her. They were fair, but not as beautiful as she. Everyone knew that Siarya was the fairest of all, and she took pride upon that. She was truly magnificent—and now she would have the most beloved warrior of her kind all to herself; the strong and handsome Captain William of Sephoria.

"How could he not love you, sweet Sia?" The girls sighed as they gazed upon their Princess.

"Your flattery warms my heart," Siarya gazed out the window dreamily upon the light-soaked land beyond the stone walls. Her friends conversed joyously over the possible marriage as she pondered over her handsome love. Siarya turned to a maid who stood near the doorway. "Please tell Sir Roger to send a message to Captain William. Tell him to meet me in the Rose Garden ten past seven."

The maid nodded obediently.

"Sia, what are you to wear tonight?" Shantaina asked as the maid left the nest.

"I was thinking the maroon gown—the one with the pearls."

"Oh dear, that won't do," Elizabeth persisted, disappearing behind the curtains. "I know exactly what you should be in tonight."

"I was thinking something white, actually," Julietta suggested thoughtfully. "It would surely give a hint to William, would it not?"

"No, no," Elizabeth walked back into the nest with her arms full of blue silk. "This is the one."

"Oh, Sia…" Shantaina eyed the gown enviously. "That would look _dazzling_ on you."

But then the door opened abruptly and everyone jumped.

"Dear sister," A voice rang from the entrance as Siarya looked up in surprise. "I see that you are fitting yourself for tonight's event?"

"Marie…" Siarya smiled widely, regaining her proper elegance as the three others bowed respectfully. She masked her stiffness, but her foot couldn't help but tap against the floor in nervousness. "I have just chosen my gown. Are you well?"

Her three friends glanced at each other awkwardly. Her sister, Evermarie, was the eldest and the most dignified. She was the tallest and most slender; she was garbed in a violet gown that lifted her bosom and glittered in the firelight. Her auburn hair was lifted up in a coiled bun, speckled with white pearls and diamond jewelry.

Evermarie tilted her head slightly. "Very much so. I see the maids haven't even assisted you with your wardrobe. Must they be dismissed?"

A few maids who stood near the window peered up silently, their eyes suddenly full of apprehension.

Siarya automatically told a lie. "It is true; they tend to distract me. Please, if you could assist me with any kind of help, I would be grateful. I wish to look well this evening."

The others nodded in agreement as Evermarie pursed her lips. "Very well then. I shall send their Mistress a message immediately. For now, I will assist you with your garb. Please, if you should be so kind—"she nodded at the others, who understood the message quickly and curtsied, leaving the nest. The maids were holding back furious glares as they left the nest as well, their heads slumped down in slight shame.

Her sister led her to the stand in front of the large mirrors. Silence was the usual sound that crossed their lips when they were together; even as sisters, they were only acquaintances.

Siarya was soon stripped of her clothes as Evermarie helped her with her ball gown. Swallowing stiffly as the strings of her corset were pulled, Siarya broke the silence.

"I thank you, Marie. You are too kind to do this generous thing for me. You are far more respectful than a maid."

A few more strings were pulled before Evermarie answered. "People such as us usually are, Siarya. It is merely the basic principle of civilized people in society. Responsibility, along with honesty, are two important values that are expected to be followed by people like us."

Siarya flinched at the word _honesty._

Evermarie turned Siarya around to adjust the gown. "You shall be primped and polished for tonight, Siarya. You are to be expected to glow with maturity, and not just beauty."

"I understand."

Evermarie touched Siarya's face gently and turned her head towards her own face. "You must bring honor to this family, Siarya."

"Aren't I good to this family?" Siarya asked softly, confused. That was a question she asked herself often.

She patted Siarya's cheek, quick and dismissively. "Of course."

She began to brush her hair, as if there were ever tangles in the golden ringlets. As Siarya stared in the mirror at her reflection, she pondered over William. Of _course _he loved her. If only he would ask the King for her hand—if only she could beg him to without acting like a child.

People always seemed to treat her like a child, no matter what she did.

And if there was one thing Siarya ever remembered with the most certainty in her entire life, it was that she was never a good daughter—no matter how much she tried to be.

She had the memories to prove it.

When Siarya was four, she remembered having a fascination for birds. She had been in her old nestchamber with three maids who had been watching her, and there had been a wide window that overlooked the mountains. There were many trees in view, and every morning when the sky would turn into gold and pink, she'd go up to that window and open it—it was very cold outside in the mornings, and it would smell of grass and dew. The maids would let her do this, and they'd watch as birds flew past the window—sparrows, blue jays, canaries… they'd sing beautiful songs in the mornings, and it was what Siarya and the maids listened to until the sky turned blue.

There was a special bird in particular, however, that always seemed to visit the window. It was a hummingbird with emerald feathers, tinted with gold and royal purple. It'd stop its quick flying to perch on the sill of the window. Siarya would call out to the maids in joy, who would nod to each other, saying: "There's that bird again. I think it favors you, Princess."

That had made Siarya feel extra special. The thought of something so different than her, so small and quick to leave, trusting her enough to perch on her windowsill and play with her—it filled her with excitement.

Although the maids never quite understood why the hummingbird always returned, Siarya was in love with it. She'd go up to the window and sit next to the bird, who would chirp and watch Siarya, as if it were talking to her. One time the maids brought Siarya a small bowl of sugar water to give to the hummingbird, and the bird had been elated at the gift so much that it perched on Siarya's palm before flying off.

One morning, however, her mother had joined the three maids. When Sephoria's Star began to paint the sky in pretty colors, Siarya stood up and pulled at her mother's tresses excitedly before running to open the window. "Look, mother! The birds sing!"

But before she could open the window all the way, her mother jumped up and slammed the window shut—almost crushing Siarya's fingers. "Don't you dare!"

"But—but the birds!" Siarya protested, sounding upset. She pointed at the window. "I want you to hear the birds."

"I don't want to see you opening windows to daydream over birds. You are not a commoner," her mother scolded. She wrapped her hand around Siarya's arm and pulled her away from the window. Her grip was tight and uncomfortable, and it made Siarya cry out in pain. "Those are birds that will peck out your eyes. Their beaks are sharp and are used for tearing flesh. If you think such birds are so marvelous, I should throw you in a vulture's nest."

"I'm sorry, mother." Siarya's eyes filled with tears. She didn't know she was doing something so terrible, and automatically felt humiliated.

Her mother glanced down and scowled before wiping away the wetness from Siarya's cheeks. "Don't cry. You are not a child."

Siarya sniffled and stopped her crying obediently.

"You may not open that window near her again," her mother said demandingly to the three maids, who stood there silently with unfamiliar expressions. "I don't want to hear about her falling out of that window before she's learned how to fly. For the Gods' sake, she hasn't even started branching yet! I should have you dismissed."

"We apologize, your majesty," one of the maid's spoke up softly. "It will not happen again."

"No, it will not." Her mother snapped before letting go of Siarya's arm.

Siarya held her arm gingerly as the pain began to subside. She watched as her mother left the nest, and the maids scurried over to Siarya to wipe away the rest of her tears. Her eyes moved back to the window, where she could still see birds flitting past. Her breath halted in her throat when the pretty hummingbird stopped in front of the window, as if peering in, its head tilting to the side in question over why the window wasn't open.

Siarya pushed the maids away and pointed to the window. "Get rid of the birds."

"Are you sure, little Princess?" One of them asked.

"Get rid of 'em." Siarya repeated stubbornly before turning away from the window and climbing into a large chair. She curled herself into a ball.

After the maids shooed the hummingbird away, Siarya never saw the birds at her window again.

As for the second memory, it started with the fact that Siarya knew she never left the Hollow very often except for special cases. Not even for the holidays, although she had been told that the family used to visit when she was much younger. Obviously not anymore. She never asked why; nobody in her family ever acknowledged things like that. It made the distance between each other more natural, and Siarya would've never realized that keeping away from family was not a normal thing if she hadn't heard servants talking about it like it was strange.

But there was one time where she remembered leaving the Hollow, and it had been the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her. Siarya's uncle, Duke Gabriel, on her father's side—he had become a widow since his wife died due to a miscarriage. The funeral was unexpected and immediate, and it was the first time that Siarya could remember where she actually conversed with family outside of the Hollow.

She had traveled with her sisters. Siarya was seven at the time, so Evermarie had been nine, and little Eriana had just turned two years old. Eriana had cried the whole way, so the journey was strenuous and the King and Queen were displeased. Evermarie had stayed quiet the entire time as Eriana wailed and screamed, while the King ordered silence and the Queen at least tried to muffle her with her lacey shawl.

Siarya had offered to try and rock Eriana to sleep, and while the King seemed fine with it, her mother sharply refused.

"As if you think you could care for a child," she said with a hint of irritation. "The Gods only know how worse you'll make everything become."

"But I think she just wants attention," Siarya had argued. She knew this because Eriana's nesting nursery was very close to her own, and she recognized the kind of cries she heard at night. "She can't breathe when you're suffocating her—"

"Siarya!" Her mother snapped, and Siarya's mouth closed obediently. "Behave yourself. You are acting as though you know things you shouldn't. Do as Marie does, and sit still and remain silent. You can learn a lot from her."

"Yes, mother." Siarya relented.

They listened to Eriana's cries the entire way over. Not one person did anything about it.

Siarya never knew what to think of it.

Then when they reached the funeral, nobody talked. The event was taking place in one of the citadels in Aliyah, the holiest city in the Kingdom, and it was gloomy. It was overcast and rainy, and the nests in the citadel were dark and barely lit. Siarya remembered there being a glass coffin with a lady inside of it, dressed in white with pretty red hair. She had been pale, but her lashes were long and she had full lips. Siarya remembered her as very beautiful, and she supposed that it made Uncle Gabriel very sad to see her go. Her name had been Celine—like the moon he had said.

Nobody spoke to Uncle Gabriel as he mourned. Siarya didn't know until she was older that most of the family didn't like him. They were displeased with how he had married a less than wealthy woman. They never accepted Celine into the family, and Gabriel had been cut out socially until her death. Celine hadn't even been given a proper Royal burial, where it was tradition to send her off to sea. Instead, she was to be buried in the ground.

Uncle Gabriel had been sitting on one of the benches in front of the coffin, with his elbows resting on his knees and his head bent, hands clasped together as if in a prayer of grief. It reminded Siarya of her father when she'd see him sometimes when he seemed upset.

She had approached him then, a white flower in hand. Every guest was expected to wear white to a funeral for a symbol of purity. It was rude not to pray for the departed soul, even though most of the family hardly seemed to care.

"Uncle Gabriel?" Siarya asked. He glanced up and met her eyes. His were red-rimmed and light gray, lost and empty, and it made her sad. So, she handed him her flower. "I hope you feel better."

He looked at her flower hesitantly before taking it. A small smile graced his lips, and she could see the wrinkles in his face from it. He must've smiled a lot with Celine, she figured. "You are my niece, aren't you?"

"Yes, Uncle." She replied.

A quiet chuckle escaped him as he twirled the stem of the flower between his fingers. He looked around before turning back to her and lifting his hand to lift her chin with his forefinger. He moved her head from side to side, studying her. "Genevieve's daughter?"

"Yes, sir."

"I see," he said quietly. He suddenly seemed sadder, and Siarya wasn't sure what she had done. But then he spoke again, "Do you mind if I give you some advice, child?"

Siarya blinked. "No, sir."

"Will you remember my advice if I tell you?"

"I have a good memory." She answered, although she wasn't so sure.

He seemed to accept that though, so he beckoned her forward, and she scooted closer. He leaned forward and spoke in a whisper, as if saying a secret. "Don't ever be afraid to turn a page in your own book."

Siarya's brows furrowed as she looked at him strangely, feeling confused. "What does that mean, Uncle?"

He patted her back. "If you remember it like I tell you to, you will understand."

"Why must I understand such a thing? It sounds silly."

"You are a sweet child who gives flowers to mourning old men like me," he replied. "And someday, that will change. I could only hope to think that you are not afraid to think of ideas that others may not be comfortable with."

"I don't get it." Siarya crossed her arms.

"It's alright," he assured her as he pulled her arms from her chest. "You don't have to right now."

"Siarya!" Her mother's voice chimed in from behind them, and Siarya stood up straight. Her mother was there, dressed in white and her hand outstretched. "Come with me immediately."

"Yes, mother." Siarya obeyed, and she took her mother's hand and left her Uncle. She could feel his eyes digging into her back as she walked.

Her mother's grip was starting to hurt her hand. Her voice was venomous. "I thought I told you not to speak, Siarya."

"I apologize." Siarya said softly, letting her head fall against her chest.

She didn't say anything in reply. They left the funeral shortly after, and Siarya soon forgot about her Uncle's odd advice. She never saw Uncle Gabriel again.

But that was not the only time she had left the safety of the Hollow's walls.

There was another time when she turned ten, approximately three years after the funeral. It was Eriana's fifth birthday, and there was a massive feast in the Dining Nest of the Hollow. Noble couples brought their proud children and they dined on delicious meats, fruit cakes, chocolate pastries, sweet soups and crunchy candies. Gifts were passed around, and Eriana was given a dozen new dresses she would most undoubtedly grow out of, countless pieces of jewelry, sewing supplies, and more things that Eriana doted on.

After dinner, they were supposed to play games while the adults talked. There were around seven boys and eleven girls with them, and Eriana seemed to adore the attention. Siarya watched as the children laughed and played. Most of them were seven or younger, but there were two boys she remembered that were twelve and ten. About the same age as her.

"Let's play Slay the Dragon!" A girl with bouncing gold hair had shouted. The other children squealed, and Eriana clapped her hands in excitement.

"The boys can be the Knights and Princes," Eriana declared with hands on her hips. "And we can be the Princesses."

At that, the children separated into their genders. Eriana took Siarya's hand and led her forward into the group of girls, who were fixing their plump little gowns and faking swoons.

The two older boys were sniggering to each other as they moved to their own group, and Siarya's eyes followed them in curiosity. An odd sense of wrongness filled her inside as Eriana placed her next to the giggling little girls.

"Oh, save us!" Eriana cried out. "There's a Dragon on the loose!"

All the girls screamed and laughed as they scrambled over each other, and one of the other boys called out over the noise. "Don't fear, I will rescue you!"

Siarya stood in the chaos, feeling empty.

"Sia, come on," Eriana nagged at her as she pulled at Siarya's long blue skirts. "You have to run or you'll be caught by the Dragon."

Siarya studied all the running girls for a few moments before shaking her head. She knelt to the ground to face her little sister. "What if _we _slayed the Dragon?"

Eriana blinked, confused. She crossed her arms. "But that's not how the game works."

"I know, but wouldn't it be so _cool?"_ Siarya grinned widely, gripping Eriana's shoulders. "Come on, let's fight with the boys."

"Princesses, outside!" A boy called out. "The Dragon is going to burn down the entire Hollow! Outside, girls!"

All the girls screamed and picked up their dresses to start scrambling to the doors.

"Come on," Siarya pulled at Eriana's hand. She was staring at Siarya with an odd expression. "I'll use a fake shield if you want to use the fake sword."

At that, Eriana's face brightened, and they both ran outside to the balcony. The boys followed behind them, and they ran to the edge. Children climbed up onto the railings, wobbling slightly, and looked down at the ground very far below.

"Hurry up!" A girl screeched, and she pushed the boy in front of her.

He fell with a shout.

The kids followed him soon after, each and every one of them hopping onto the railings and jumping off.

"Your corset's not too tight, right?" Eriana asked her before climbing up to the railing.

"I'm fine," Siarya assured her. "I'll be able to breathe. Now hurry, or we'll get left behind."

Hands held tight, they both climbed up onto the railings. Peering downwards, they saw nothing but clouds and the spots of falling children.

And then they were falling themselves.

Air rustled through Siarya's ethereal feathers as she opened them up, letting them embrace the force of the sky. Eriana did the same, her wings blindingly white and radiant. They glided over the starlit clouds—clouds that reminded Siarya of large rolling hills, ironically—shaded by rays of orange and gold with nothing but colors of blue shrouding the horizon. The wind whistled a song in her ears, unlike any instrument known before, and she breathed it in—music and all—taking it fully in her lungs before exhaling. The chill of the atmosphere high above felt nice against her hot skin, and she couldn't help but spin in the air in pleasure.

They followed the children who were beginning to unfurl their own wings. Siarya flew towards the giant, gleaming Star that seemed to light the world in hues of beauty, and she could feel the warmth of it on her cold cheeks and the length of her arms. It made her skin prickle, and she wondered if she could pretend to fly so far as to touch the rays of light that cascaded along the clouds.

But instead, she ducked downwards and pressed her wings close to her back. She hurtled downwards with the other children, golden clouds transforming to a natural white as it engulfed her. The fast winds tore at her but she couldn't care less. It only made the music in the air more loud and thrilling, the beat of it sending her heart racing.

The clouds disappeared and she let her wings free again, stopping her almost abruptly from the fall. There was a canyon under her, and between the canyon's rocky legs streamed a wild, churning river. She flew along the water until a valley appeared, just left of the village. It was all forest and farmland, and the children ducked down towards it for a landing.

Eriana flew beside her, laughing as the wind rustled her feathers. Siarya touched her hand again, and they flew together with fingers entwined.

When they landed, their feet touched soft green grass. Other children were laughing too, and they danced in the field as the Star's light touched the blades of the grass.

"The Dragon's still coming!" A boy shouted, and everyone screamed.

Another boy with blonde hair picked up a stick. "Draw your weapons, knights!"

All the boys began picking up whatever they could; sticks, rocks, pointy pieces of grass—Siarya ushered Eriana on, and they both picked up two twigs.

"Pretend that's a shield, okay?" Eriana said while pointing at Siarya's stick. Then she pointed at her own stick, "And this is my sword."

"That's is your sword." Siarya agreed warmly.

"_Roaaaarrrrrrr!" _The older boys suddenly burst from the crowds, arms waving. Everyone moved away from them, sticks drawn. "We are the Dragons, fear us!"

"We have been betrayed!" The blonde boy wailed. "They are trying to turn us into one of them!"

"We want to eat you!" The ten year old boy yelled. "We're going to munch on your brains, cowardly knights!"

The two boys began chasing the girls around, who squealed and jumped away from their advances. In the meantime, the other boys fought to keep the two Dragons away, slashing at them with blunt sticks and throwing pebbles.

A boy with brown hair and freckles managed to hit the twelve year old boy in the head with a rock. The boy turned around with a yelp, rubbing his head in annoyance. "Watch where you're throwing that thing!"

"You can't tell me what to do!" The brown-haired boy stuck out his tongue. At that, the twelve-year-old tackled him.

The boys wrestled on the ground, and everyone stopped to watch. The ten-year-old boy joined his friend, and soon it became a brawl.

"Stop it!" Eriana raised her stick, and in a moment of shock, she dropped it on the twelve-year-old's head.

Siarya froze, eyes widening. The fight stopped, and the older boy peered up at Eriana with a malicious snarl. "What was that for, horse-face?"

Eriana's hands began to shake as she turned pale from the insult. Hurt filled her eyes, and Siarya suddenly felt furious. "Who're you calling horse-face?"

The boy's eyes transitioned from Eriana to Siarya, and he stood up. His friend followed him, and the brown-haired boy scotched away from the scene the moment he could. He had a bloody nose.

He looked at the stick in Siarya's hand. "What are you holding that for?"

Siarya lifted the stick, and then gave him a look. "It's a weapon, stupid."

"You're a girl. Girls don't have weapons." He replied smugly.

"How about I hit you with it and see?" She snapped back.

The boy crossed his arms, brow raised. "Like you're actually brave enough."

"I'm braver than you think," Siarya answered. She lifted her head proudly, and the boys exchanged glances. "I'll bet you twenty gold pieces that I can do anything you can do."

Before the boy could reply, a sudden scream filled the air.

It came from somewhere in the edge of the forest; crows scattered from the trees, and all the children peered at the source in a new kind of fright. Siarya's blood ran cold, because the scream sounded young.

"What was that?" Somebody asked nervously.

I-I don't know." A girl replied as she fiddled with her gown.

"Should we go over there?"

"No!" A boy said immediately. "It's probably a ghoul!"

"Or a monster!"

"Or maybe it's the Dragon!" Another girl cried out fearfully.

"It's not the stupid Dragon, Annie," the ten-year-old boy scoffed. "Everybody knows those aren't actually real."

"Well, _somebody_ should go check it out," a brunette girl said rather arrogantly, putting her hands on her hips. "What if something needs help?"

"I vote for Miss Bravery over there," the twelve-year-old announced. His eyes were gleaming as he stared Siarya down. "I bet she's too afraid to do it."

Siarya scowled at them and then looked at the forest. It was getting dark, and her heart was beginning to race, but she wasn't going down without a fight. "I'm not afraid. Just watch me."

"Sia, no!" Eriana whined.

"I'm just going to go check it out," Siarya snapped. "Don't worry, I'll be fine."

"Don't take your time," the boy sneered. "You're going to owe me twenty gold pieces after this, Princess."

She glared at him before opening up her wings. They lit the dimness of the evening brightly, and she flew towards the forest like a firefly lighting up the sky.

Siarya touched ground when she got close to the line of trees where the dark forest began. Turning around, the children were dark specs in the field, and they stood still as they watched her. She sucked in a breath before turning back to the forest, the feeling of chills running over her skin setting her at ease. What if it really was a monster?

Perhaps she should've called for help. Whatever screamed was probably dead, and the predator could be looking for its next victim. Maybe it was a wolf; there were many wolves in Sephoria. There were bears, too, and birds with sharp talons, and hungry cats. It could be anything.

Nervously, she began to take steps forward. If the stupid boy noticed she wasn't going into the forest, he'd tease her. She had to move to prove herself.

It was dark in between the trees. It was getting late, and it's not like anybody thought anything through when they decided to fly out of the Hollow. It just seemed fun at the time.

The sound of a branch cracking made Siarya freeze, and she peered into the darkness where the sound came from.

Feeling dumb, she croaked out a word. "Hello?"

At her voice, the sound happened again, and Siarya nearly backed out of the forest in fear. But she stood her ground as the being came into the light.

It was a little girl. She was small and blonde, with tears rolling down her pink cheeks, and Siarya recognized her from the party. She let out a breath of relief. It was just a _girl,_ not some beast. "What are you _doing_ out here? Come on."

"No," she shook her head frantically. "No, there's a monster."

Siarya frowned. "A monster? Where?"

"In the forest," the girl blubbered. "I saw him. He's ugly and scary, and he tried to hurt me."

"Okay…" Siarya said, more quietly this time. She glanced back at the forest behind the girl, but she couldn't see anything but trees. She had an odd feeling of being watched, and at that she pulled the girl closer, urging her to walk towards the field. "I need you to go back to the rest of the children, okay?"

The girl burst into tears and nodded. She tore herself away from Siarya and opened her wings, flying towards the direction of the children.

Siarya stayed there for a moment, thinking. Maybe there was a strange man in the forest who scared her. Maybe there was actually something dangerous nearby.

She'd have to get all the children back to the Hollow immediately. There'd have to be guards sent out to search the forest. It'd be a huge ordeal, and Siarya wasn't sure if it was worth it based off of a child's accusation.

"I'm sorry," a boy's voice sounded out from behind her, and Siarya nearly jumped out of her skin. She hadn't even heard the boy approach, like he was a ghost. She couldn't even see him in the dark. "I didn't mean to scare her. She ran into me, and then she screamed."

Siarya tilted her head at the voice, trying to find the owner. He sounded older than her, with a deeper voice. But still young. "Why'd she scream?"

"I frightened her," the boy replied. "I didn't mean to."

Siarya moved towards the voice, but she stopped when he shouted abruptly, "Don't come any closer!"

She frowned, her hands grasping at her dress nervously. "Why not?"

"Because…" he replied. He sounded like he was struggling with his words. "Just—just because, okay?"

"Why can't I see you?" Siarya asked. "You're in the dark."

"You won't like what you'll see if I showed you." He said after a moment. Siarya glanced around before taking a small step towards him, just barely noticeable, but a step nonetheless. She didn't understand this boy.

"Why, are you ugly?" She inquired blatantly. She remembered the little girl had seen something frighteningly ugly. Who could be so ugly as to scare a child?

"No," he snapped, sounding offended. "I'm handsome where I come from."

"Where do you come from, then?"

"None of your business."

"But I want to know," she pressured on, moving closer. "At least tell me your name."

"No."

"Your age, then?"

There was a short moment of silence before he decided to answer. "I'm fifteen. You sound like you're a little girl."

Siarya pressed her hand against the rough bark of a tree. The boy's voice was coming from the other side; she could hear him clearly now, and she wondered if she could touch him if she reached around the trunk just slightly. "I'm _not _a little girl. I'm a woman."

"Oh yeah?" The boy sounded amused. "What woman is six years old, huh?"

"I'm ten," she retorted. "And I have early wisdom that makes me an adult."

"Is that so?"

"Of course," she huffed proudly. "And I'm brave enough to fight Dragons."

She heard the boy snort. "You sure are full of yourself, aren't you?"

"Well, you're the one who won't show me what you look like," she said arrogantly, feeling irritated. "It's rude not to look at someone when you're talking to them, you know."

"How do you know I'm not looking at you?" He asked.

"B-Because!" Siarya spluttered. "I can hear where you are!"

"I know that you're blonde," he said matter-of-factly. She gaped at his words as he spoke. "You have blue eyes, but I'm not sure. They might be gray or something. Oh, and you're really short with a squeaky voice. That's why I thought you were six."

"That's not fair," Siarya barked in annoyance. She stomped her foot for emphasis. "You know what I look like, but you won't even show me your face."

"You won't like what you see."

"You're awfully quick to assume things, you know that?"

There was a short silence before the boy sighed. Siarya used this moment to creep around the tree trunk quietly, trying her best not to make a sound. Soon enough, she could see the dark outline of a body pressed against the tree, head bowed into the bark.

Siarya's fingers twitched, and she reached out to touch the boy's forearm. His skin was warm against hers, and he jolted at the touch. She could hear his sharp intake of breath, and she wondered if she scared him somehow.

He tried to pull away, but she wrapped her fingers around his arm and refused to let go. She stepped forward. "I don't think you should be afraid of _me."_

He stopped. She could feel his blood racing under his skin, and she wondered what he could be so terrified of. She never thought of herself as frightening.

"Come on," she murmured, pulling him forward into the light. "I'm braver than you think."

"You're more arrogant than you think, too." He added meekly.

Siarya rolled her eyes, and eventually the boy began to shuffle his feet in the dirt. Then they were moving.

"Tell me your name?" She asked again.

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"I'll tell you my name if you tell me yours." She offered.

He didn't reply to that. They were getting closer to the light, and she could begin to see some of his features. He didn't look _that_ bad. She could see his nose, which was straight and only slightly crooked on the bridge, but certainly not too big or not too small. He wasn't fat or bony, and the structure of his face looked fine. She was expecting an ogre, but so far she was seeing nothing but a _boy._

But then the light fully hit his face.

_"Oh."_ She gasped.

He breathed in slow, deep huffs that seemed to calm the air, but she could tell that he was anxious. Light trailing from the sky between the forest tree leaves showered him, making his skin glow as though he were part of the moon. He had dark hair and a strong jaw, and he was rather tall from Siarya's height. Shadows ripped across his face from the ragged scars that made up most of his face, but they merely blended in with the intricate designs of the black, unrecognizable markings that adorned his body. Despite his scars and malformations, it was a treacherous but beautiful sight to behold.

She let go of his arm slowly as she studied him. "You have… a _lot _of scars."

"I fight a lot." He admitted, shuffling his feet.

"What for?"

"It's just what I do," he said simply with a small shrug. He seemed to relax then; the nervousness he displayed earlier was fading away, and she could see the faint lines of a smile gracing his lips now. "My father tells me that it's important to know how to fight. He tells me it'll make me a man."

"And my mother tells me it's not ladylike to talk," Siarya remarked. She crinkled her nose slightly. "I still do, though. I think it's really hard to stay quiet all the time."

"Why does she tell you to be quiet?" His dark eyes narrowed.

"Because I never know what I'm talking about," Siarya answered with a light laugh. "And there's no point in trying to understand things I shouldn't."

The boy didn't seem to find that funny, however, and he didn't laugh. "Do you really believe that?"

"Yes?" She said, puzzled. "Why wouldn't I?"

"I don't know." He replied with a grim face.

Siarya's eyes traveled down his form, raking over the dozens of ragged scars that decorated his skin. It was strange to see a boy so young covered in so much evidence of experience. She couldn't help but notice his markings. "Your markings—they're black. Why is that?"

"You don't know? They're just like yours," he said as he touched her hand, and she nearly jumped at the feeling of it. He lifted her arm up to the light. Her own graceful, white markings shone in the darkness, markings that symbolized her race, markings that she had been born with. She had never seen anybody else with markings different than hers, but this boy's markings were black and menacing, with barbed spikes and sharp patterns. "They're a little different, that's all."

She looked up at him strangely. His eyes were dark and shining, and he looked at her like he knew something she didn't.

_"Princess!"_

The sound of her name echoed amongst the trees made her turn back to the field. Night had fully shrouded the land, and she knew she had to get back soon. The children had probably already left, which meant Eriana would be worried. But if people were calling her name, that would mean trouble.

She spun around to face the boy, wide-eyed and slightly more frantic. "Please tell me your name?"

"I can't."

"_Princess?!" _The voice was clearer now. It was a different one, which meant there were more than one.

"Are your friends calling your name?" The boy asked, confused. "I can't hear what they're shouting."

"Yes, they are," Siarya replied. "But they aren't my friends. If I had friends, they'd call me Sia."

"Sia?" He tilted his head, leaning forward. "Is that short for something?"

"Yes," she replied. "Siarya. My father told me it means _Little Dove."_

The boy suddenly grew very pale. "What's—what's your last name, Sia?"

"Why should I tell you?" She scowled. She folded her arms against her bony chest. "You won't even tell me your first name."

"It's very important," he begged. "And I don't have very much time."

"Neither do I," she argued with a flourish of her hand. "But since you care so much, it's Renette. Why does it matter?"

"Why?" He said in a panicked voice. "You're the Princess. You're…"

"Oh," she felt herself grow tense. How could she have been so _stupid?_ She was so accustomed to talking with others who know who she was without her having to introduce herself—somewhere, deep in her mind, she had instinctively believed that this boy knew her. It was a ridiculous notion, and now she had made a fool of herself. "I—I'm sorry. I forgot that you didn't know."

"How could you forget?" He said angrily. "I have to go. I—I've made a mistake. I had no idea."

"What are you talking about?" Siarya exclaimed. A wave of hurt crashed through her. "Why're you leaving?"

"It's not safe for me here," he said quickly. He was backing up so fast that he seemed to be tripping on his boots, causing him to nearly topple over backwards. "I—"

"Princess!" The voice was suddenly behind her, full of alertness and surprise. She jumped and turned around with a scowl, expecting to be lectured, but instead she met the eyes of a guard with an expression of stricken fear on his face. "Get away from him!"

"What?" She asked as she looked to see the boy again, but he was already scrambling away.

"Immediately!" The guard barked, and he didn't give her much time before he grabbed her by the arm and tugged her away from the boy. His grip was painful, and she knew it would leave bruises.

"Stop!" Siarya squirmed as she attempted to escape from him. "You're hurting me! What's wrong with you?"

The boy turned his head, and his eyes met with the guard's. A ragged snarl escaped the guard's lips before he spoke in a bitter, poisonous voice, "Leave here, cannibal, before I rip your disgusting existence apart limb by limb."

Terror flashed in the boy's eyes, and he unfurled his wings. Instead of the normal, white wings that Siarya knew, his were dark and blackened, full of smoke and shadow instead of light and beauty. It was the strangest thing she had ever seen in her life. It took her breath away.

Then the boy was gone. Siarya tore away from the guard, tears filling her eyes, and she ran to the spot where the boy had taken off. She gave the guard her meanest glare. "How could you be so cruel to him? We were just talking! He didn't do anything to you!"

"We must go back to the Hollow immediately," the guard answered without sympathy. "It is dangerous here. You could've died."

Tears slid down her cheeks as she clenched her hands into fists. "All I wanted was a friend—is that too much to ask? Now you've chased him away."

"That _thing_," the guard hissed venomously, making Siarya clamp her mouth shut in surprise. "Is _no _friend of yours. He is an abomination who deserves to be destroyed. You are lucky that you are still alive because of me."

"I—I don't understand." Siarya wiped away her tears with the back of her hand, sniffling.

"The King and Queen will explain everything when we return to the Hollow," the guard said more softly this time. He looked downwards. "Now take your book, and follow me."

"My book?" Siarya peered at the ground to see a small leather journal half-buried in the dirt. Her eyes widened.

"That is your book, right?" The guard lifted a brow suspiciously.

"Oh, my book. Of course it's mine." She lied. She picked up the book gingerly, and the guard nodded.

She kept the journal close to her chest when they opened their wings together to fly back to the Hollow. She didn't know what was inside it, but she had a feeling that the boy had left it there on accident. Maybe, if he returned, she'd be able to give it to him.

Until, of course, she discovered that the boy had been an enemy—a Drovanian—in her lands, which was evidently strictly forbidden. _He would've killed you if the guard hadn't come, _her mother had cried. She had been so shaken, and Siarya couldn't remember the last time she had seen so much terror in her mother's cold eyes.

After that, Siarya had thrown the journal into one of the drawers in her nest near her bed, vowing never to look through it. But she couldn't find it in herself to throw it away. It was a reminder of what had happened—the moment she had disobeyed her family, and it had cost her so much. It was the face of a lesson she should've learned before it happened in the first place.

Never talk to a Drovanian. Kill on sight. Or, more specifically, call a guard—because killing as a Princess would be barbaric, and there are people who could do that for her. At least, from what Siarya had been drilled into knowing.

She was sure that the journal hasn't been touched since that day. It's been in that drawer for years, collecting dust.

As for the boy, the land was searched and ransacked, but nobody ever found him. It was unknown as to how the boy escaped, but after that night, flying out of the Hollow was forbidden for Siarya and her sisters. To even unfurl their wings was a crime, and so they were forced into ground-walking.

Siarya knew that she had made a mistake conversing with the boy. She at least wasn't without dignity; she never knew of a time where she didn't act like a proper adult after that night. Siarya viewed herself as wise and responsible now at the ripe age of fifteen.

In fact, she wondered why so many other sad inferiors never attempted trying to be more like her. The world would certainly be a better place.

Of course, perhaps they would never succeed if they did. That's probably the reason why. She was just too perfect, and the perfection she had only came naturally.

Evermarie put down the brush with a sharp _clack,_ bringing Siarya back from her memories. "I'm just worried for your well-being, Siarya. This kingdom needs strength; it needs heirs that are more than decent."

Siarya felt numb and her thoughts from before quickly diminished. "Because of our enemy?"

Evermarie nodded. "The Drovanians. They are beyond evil; they are cruel, merciless and malicious creatures. They come from darkness, for they—"

"Because their shadowed wings are as black as night. I know, Marie," Siarya interrupted bitterly. Despite her thoughts of them, she didn't like to talk about the foul people on the other side of her Kingdom. They were malicious and insolent, and anything_ but_ vegetarians. "And they are trained to overthrow our kingdom."

Evermarie hissed, cupping Siarya's chin and snapping her head towards her. "Not just to overthrow, Siarya. To kill our soldiers, to rape our women, and to enslave our children. All because of jealousy."

"Because we have light and they do not."

"Indeed." Evermarie weaved Siarya's hair into a graceful braid. "And we have beautiful white wings. The Gods chose our kind for glory; we must never take that for granted."

The Gods,Siarya thought amiably. The most legendary symbol of Husband and Wife; Gabriel and Airia. They were creators of all. Airia, the stunningly glorious Empress of the sky, and Gabriel as the intimidatingly powerful Monarch of the ground.

And the Sephorian's wings, of course. In the olden times, an entire kingdom was built upon winged people—both Drovania and Sephoria combined, except there had been no hatred. It was when something terrible and unknown broke out among the Ancient Kingdom, where everything was split. The Drovanians who used to be among them with radiant white wings were plunged into darkness, while the Sephorians were given sanctuary within the light-soaked lands of Sephoria. Sephorians just assumed they were the righteous ones.

Siarya's wings, white as snow, were not solid. No one's wings were ever solid unless the person chooses them to be; usually in mating rituals or in battle. They were purely made out of light, or out of darkness. It is how the winged people of all kingdoms could unfold and fold their wings no matter what limitations such as clothes were brought forth; it's why flight was so unique in the Kingdoms. It not only gave the people freedom of the skies, but certain magic as well.

But Siarya didn't like to think about flying anymore. The more she remembered it, the more she began to miss it. That night when she had met the Drovanian was the worst mistake she had ever made, causing her wings to practically become clipped forever. It was his fault that inside the Hollow, it was strictly forbidden to unfurl your wings. It was his fault that it was found _'improper'_ and '_reckless',_ as if the wings were shameful and not the kind of luxury they were made out to be in the legends. Siarya hardly even remembered the last time Evermarie had let her wings open up, wide and beautiful for everyone to see.

She hated it. She hated the boy, too.

But she refused to hate herself for it.

"I would never take it for granted, Marie." Siarya assured Evermarie sincerely as she gazed out into the evening sky, the darkening Starset speckled with light. She could feel her own wings twitching anxiously after being kept constrained for years.

"Good," Evermarie sighed. "As Princesses of Sephoria, we truly are to be Queens, Siarya. When my marriage occurs in the next month, I shall be the ruler of Southern Amontae. The same goes for our youngest sister when the time comes—Eriana. I suspect she shall remain and rule our homeland Eloraia, yet traveling will still be required, obviously."

Eloraia was the capital of Sephoria, where mountains and rivers ranged far, and where the Hollow took its place. Amontae was all the way over the other side of the Kingdom, several hours away.

"Southern Amontae?" Siarya frowned. She had forgotten of her sister's engagement. "It's so far…"  
"It is fair that we rule separately, Siarya. It was the part of Sephoria that was chosen for my rule. It shall happen."

Evermarie was the kind of person who never questioned what she was being told to do. She was loyal that way, in which she would be given her responsibilities and would die before she'd even think of complaining. She was to be married to one of the wealthiest lords in Sephoria, a thirty-year old man named Edgar Collins who had the attention span of a fly but was sharply intelligent when it came to business. Their father had initially intended for Evermarie to be wed to a Prince, but the only familiar male suitors available were either married with children, or younger than the age of three. There weren't many other Kingdoms around Sephoria, as isolated as it was, and the Kingdoms that did reside nearby were controlled by extended family with no marriageable volunteers.

Trumpets rang out from the Hollow Bridge, sending out signs of arriving guests, and Siarya sighed. "People are arriving. It must be time."

"Indeed it must be," Evermarie nodded, taking Siarya by the shoulder. "You look beautiful. I wish your eyes didn't look so icy cold and unkind—it takes away part of the charm—but it will have to do. Try to _look_ warm. I would think a maroon or darker gown would have suited you better, but it's too late to make changes. Let's go—they will be waiting for your entering."

"Do you know what guests are to be coming?"

"Many," Evermarie stated plainly. "Anyone who cares for a Princess's fifteenth birthday."

Siarya smiled to herself. Everyone.

"The age of fifteen also puts you in place for marriage. Remember this, Siarya. Men like girls who are obedient and capable of pleasure. Bringing honor to our family will also consist of having sons."

"I understand." Siarya replied, thinking joyously over William.

"I'm sure you do," Evermarie smiled encouragingly, her slender hand resting upon Siarya's backside as she urged her slowly along. "Any responsible Royal would."


	3. Red

**Chapter Two**

**Red**

Evermarie and Siarya joined their younger sister, Eriana, who was garbed in a green gown of emeralds and pearls that contrasted against her golden ringlets. They stood near a large glass door made inside a golden arch, with crystalline handles. Various women stood there with puffed out gowns and luxurious decorations, accompanied by tall and handsome men wearing just as proper attire.

Their mother stood next to Siarya. She was dressed in a magnificent, large ball gown entirely laced with sequins and jewels. Her pale blonde hair was pinned up tightly upon her elegant head, her giant crown shimmering in the torchlight. Leaning in slightly, she whispered gently but sternly into Siarya's ear. "You're late."

"There were some… preparation difficulties." Siarya struggled for a proper answer.

"Does it matter?"

"I'm sorry, mother." She whispered. The Queen's grip turned softer at Siarya's anxious expression. Her sharp gray eyes warmed, and she nodded at Siarya kindly.

"Go."

Siarya walked out onto the balcony where a crowd of glimmering gowns and glorious peoples clapped uproariously. Praises were called out and Siarya smiled and waved in greeting as if being late had just been graciously part of the plan.

Evermarie and Eriana soon followed after her, and then the King and Queen. The King wore his furs from his latest hunt proudly, his golden crown gleaming heavily upon his auburn-haired head. He gazed upon Siarya with a hint of genuine pride, which made her blush slightly.

Although he was her father, Siarya honestly didn't know the King that well. He was always away on business, or on hunts, or having some excuse to spend a few months elsewhere. He never smiled around mother, and he kept himself oddly distanced from Siarya. Her sisters he doted upon, but to Siarya, he kept away. Siarya once thought it was contempt and dislike that pulled him away from her, but there was never any cruelty in his eyes. It was just… blank.

And sometimes, in the glint of the light, she saw pity.

Her father was an odd man at his best. Siarya just taught herself to ignore it, despite the hurtful bite of it all. Love was not something that was needed so much in Royal life, Siarya figured. She'd gone well enough without it.

She dragged her eyes away from the King and gazed upon the people. They were staring up at her expectantly, and she cleared her throat for her practiced speech. She had rehearsed it various times in front of the mirror to perfectly mask her aversion to talking to so many people.

"Fine subjects of Sephoria, I must thank you for arriving here tonight. It is my greatest honor to be within a loyal kingdom. I hope you find the food and serving here in the Hollow to your taste, and that this ball shall be remembered for ages." Siarya complimented them with the usual flattery of loyalty and fake sincerity. As she took a breath of disdain, she glanced at the clock. Fifteen past seven.

Siarya swallowed dryly. "The Sephorians are strong, healthy, and omnipotent. We are the stars in the heavens that light up this world of darkness. I wish to rule with all of the kindness you deserve. Every year we should be grateful for surviving from the terrible Drovanians," Eriana handed Siarya a glass of wine. She was grinning wryly—she knew Siarya hated speeches. "Today, I would like to make a toast. This toast is specifically a thank you—a thank you for the Gods Airia and Gabriel and our good luck for making it past another year."

Everyone nodded and took a sip of the wine, as did Siarya. For her, it was bitter sweet as the crowd applauded.

Intending to avoid any contact with suitors looking for her hand, relatives, or friends wishing to congratulate her, she moved her way towards the Rose Garden. But Eriana caught her first by the arm.

"Where are you going?" She asked, eyes narrowing in annoyance. "Your birthday ball is going to be inside."

"I know that," Siarya replied sheepishly. "And I'll be in there in a little bit. I just… have some stuff to do."

Eriana's annoyed expression turned into one of realization. She let go of Siarya's arm with a huff of breath. "You're going to see _him_ again, aren't you?"

Siarya frowned at the tone of her voice. "So what if I am?"

"Nothing," Eriana waved her hand in dismissal. "But he gives me the creeps, that's all."

"William is nothing but a gentlemen," Siarya said in his defense. "You should think better of him."

"I will when he stops being weird."

"He's not _weird."_

"I heard he likes to stroke the butts of the animals he hunts." Eriana said bluntly, her eyes focusing on her nails.

Siarya scoffed in disgust. "You're such a liar, Eri. That's so gross."

"Well, just think of that when you're snogging him."

"I doubt I will," she glared at Eriana before glancing at the clock again. "Look, I have to go. Cover for me?"

Eriana suddenly looked agitated. "_What?_ I never agreed to that! How do you expect me to cover for you?"

Siarya turned away from her quickly. "Think of something."

"But you're the birthday girl—!"

"Think of something!" Siarya repeated loudly before purposely disappearing from Eriana's view.

After a minute or two, Siarya finally escaped the clutches of the crowd in the Dancing Nest as the dances finally begun. The instruments played in the background as Siarya walked through the garden, trying to find her love.

Because William was the Captain of her father's Army, he never had a lot of time. He was always busy with sword fighting and intense training, and Siarya understood that completely. It took a lot of energy to become a man like William—so full of devotion and strength. But when she could, she'd always try to meet up with him. He'd shed her with attention and adoration, and she'd feel warm and content for once. He was so kind, so sweet, and so very handsome.

She found that she yearned for his love. His whispered words of respect and encouragement. The warmth he gave her was addicting, and it felt like her own emotions had swept her away into the world that is _him._

She jumped when she felt warm fingers on her waist, and she turned around abruptly. She was suddenly being kissed by a pair of plush, tender lips. Her mind went blank as she giggled against the kiss, holding him in her arms. He broke it hesitantly. "Hello, love."

"William." She let out breathlessly, opening her eyes widely.

Half of his face glowed in the firelight. He was clean-shaven, with tawny brown hair and handsome sharp features in his face and jaw. His eyes were a mossy green, bright and luminous in the dark. "Are you well tonight?"

"I am," Siarya smiled gently, unable to take her eyes off of his features. She cupped his neck with her hands, and already the warm fuzziness began to fill her from inside. "And you?"

"Busy."

"Oh?" She raised her eyebrow, her palms spreading apart upon his broad chest. "With whom?"

"A certain lady," He whispered in her ear. His voice was melodic. "I don't believe anyone has told her how truly beautiful she looks tonight."

"Mmm," Siarya replied softly, leaning into the tickling sensation of his mouth. Her heart skipped at the compliment. "I'm jealous."

"Are you now?"

She giggled as he pulled her into another kiss, but she spoke against his lips soon after. He looked at her with a frown as she pushed out, "Everyone won't stop talking about my future."

"And what do they say?" William asked with an arch on his eyebrow. A part of him looked a little impatient like he didn't want to talk to her.

"They say I am to be married; that I am to become Queen soon." Siarya studied his reaction as she spoke. She'd been hinting to this constantly with him.

"And a wonderful Queen you shall be…" He smiled, which disappointed her. She was hoping for something else. _A proposal, maybe?_

He pressed his lips against hers. She felt him pushing her softly against the stone garden wall. She grinned against his lips still as she let him caress her torso with his big hands, down to her waist…

The next half-hour was spent with pleasant kissing, which she didn't mind. They did this in secret, although many knew of their 'feelings' for each other. When he complimented her on her beauty, she always received a good feeling in her chest. He really loved her.

And love was an addictive feeling.

Siarya wondered how they would look together; two beautiful people in the moonlight, deeply in love. She belonged with him. He was the only man as handsome as she deserved. He could protect her from the ruffians and thugs beyond the Hollow walls; for that's really all they were out there. Every dirty villager and merchant that as a Royal, she never really cared for.

And there was no man, no soldier, or any handsome brute as admired as him in Sephoria. If there was, she would have known. Of course, it wasn't very hard to see why; he was like a God. As a specimen such as him, he is truly and incredibly extraordinary.

His flushed lips separated from hers, his green eyes glistening with gold flecks in the low lighting. His hands trailed from her waist to the course of her spine, stopping at the sensitive area between her shoulder blades. "May I touch them?"

She blinked. He wanted to touch her wings. To touch another's wings was extremely personal, like a virtue, or the literal sense of a soul's virginity. Only mates were allowed to do so, and it surprised her that he'd ask of such a thing. "I…"

Before she could answer, he opened up his own wings. They were gigantic and bright as if looking into a thousand stars attached perfectly on each feather, each a pure white with gentle hues of gold brushed on like a painting. His purity took her breath away. His voice was melodic and delicious, "I'll let you touch mine."

She lifted her hands so that her fingers were inches away from his glowing white wings; she could feel the energy and warmth radiating off of them like a holy fire. But he caught her wrist in his long fingers before she could touch them. She raised her brows questioningly.

"Not before I touch yours." He said softly.

She hesitated. Unfurling her wings would be against the rules. She never let anyone touch her wings before. Kissing was one thing, but letting another man place their hand upon an extension of her soul was something that was usually done during… well, mating. But then again, she was willing to touch his wings, wasn't she?

Yet the thought of him laying his hands upon her wings invoked a sort of panic that she didn't quite understand. She loved him. She loved the way he loved her.

She shouldn't feel scared.

She took a step away from him when she noticed a light appear. A light from a lantern. "Who is that?"

William turned around. She felt him stiffen and his beautiful wings disappeared, and he grabbed her instantly. She found that she missed the sight of his beautiful light the moment it disappeared. "It's a person. You should go."

An emotion flooded through her. One that she didn't recognize. "Why?"

"It's your birthday— it would be utterly immature of you to be caught with a man—"

"A man who I _love—"_

"—before marriage." He finished abruptly.

"Must it be so hard?" Siarya whimpered as she gazed into his brilliant green eyes. "Just to be able to kiss you in public..?"

William grabbed her hands. "It shall change soon, Princess."

"How soon?"

He gave her one more kiss, but it was upon the soft skin of her dainty knuckles. "You'll see."

The lantern's light grew nearer and she could see a flash of red hair. Before she could respond, his eyes widened and he spoke again much too quickly. "_Go. _We will meet again._"_

If she wasn't taught to be so obedient, she may have wondered why he wanted her to leave so bad. But instead she left, disappearing into the rose bushes without a trace of thought.

~.~

Siarya moved gracefully back into the Dancing Nest. The Dancing Nest was made of golden branches; the curtains were of satin, the glittering floors of amber, and the radiating chandelier of bronze. It smelled of candles and perfumes, and delicately patterned masonry decorated every surface. Not many had noticed her absence, although they did acknowledge her entrance. Soon wealthy gentlemen and ladies bustled around her, congratulating her on her achievements and heart-warming speech.

Eriana was dancing with a young gentleman; he looked the age of seventeen. Eriana, whose soft features denied any secrecy of her emotions, seemed bored. She was a tiny thing, really, for girl of ten years.

"You look extravagant tonight, my dear." A woman complimented her from behind as she turned around.

Siarya recognized her as her aunt on her mother's side, the Duchess of Cyrania, a Kingdom of the upmost civility. One couldn't even walk into the streets of the Kingdom without clean shoes, or they'd be thrown out. "Oh, Aunt Helena. You surprised me. I'm glad that you made it here tonight."

"The same for you, child." The Duchess smiled joyously, her carefully powdered cheeks blushing slightly. She was a lot like Siarya's mother in a way that was cold and intimidating, with her pale blonde hair and calculating gray eyes. There was a certain lack of natural confidence, however, that her Aunt couldn't ever cover up no matter how much she tried.

"It's nice to see you again."

"Yes, well, a woman like me needs to get out every once in a while," she swung her golden-patterned fan towards her face and laughed heartily as Siarya masked her dislike with a practiced chuckle. "I haven't been her since the last Winter Solstice. How are your parents, dear?"

"They are well." Siarya answered flatly.

Siarya never liked the Duchess, and she had a large reason for it. Aunt Helena was determined to achieve more than her sister ever could—when Siarya's mother had married a King, Aunt Helena would not stop until she had married a King herself, which she failed. When Evermarie was born, Aunt Helena gave birth to a daughter named Sabeline, who she claimed to be so talented that she had started walking at just six months. When it came to comparing children, Sabeline was always better than Evermarie, Eriana, and Siarya combined; all responsibility, sweetness, and beauty. Aunt Helena often bragged of her other son, Michael, and of how he was already married to some beautiful Marquess with two male children.

"I suppose they are…" Aunt Helena huffed as she turned her head, her face glowing from the heat of the Dancing Nest. "Here comes my daughter. Do you recall Sabeline? She's about your age now, isn't she? Her father is around here somewhere—with the grandchildren, I expect. Did I tell you that Michael has two boys, now?"

"Perhaps another time." Siarya smiled assuredly, and she tried to move away from her, but Aunt Helena hooked her arm around Siarya's elbow like a steel trap.

"My dear," her Aunt spoke like a vice. "It's just been so long since we've spoken to each other. Tell me, have you any new skills?"

"Skills? Indeed. I love to sew." Siarya lied, masking her surprise.

"How lovely," She smiled, baring perfect teeth. "Do you paint or draw?"

"No, I am afraid not."

"Oh my, that's too bad." Aunt Helena lifted her glass of wine to her lips somberly, yet there was a ghost of a crimson smile on her face.

Siarya felt a soft hand placed on her shoulder, warm and reassuring. Lifting her head, she peered up to see the face of the Queen. "My dear Helena, it's been a while. So long, in fact, I don't believe you've seen just how much Siarya was improved. She's coming along quite nicely for her age—she is very talented and is proudly adored by many."

"Oh yes, I'm sure," Sabeline appeared from behind the Duchess, amber-like eyes sparkling with glee and challenging wit. She shared a pink, stunning smile as she eyed the three of them; her heart-shaped face all powder, lipstick, and blush. Her silvery blonde hair was in ringlets that fell to her shoulders in a carefully woven bun. She was a rather flat-chested girl, but one could hardly notice when she was covered in sequined gold. She met Siarya's sharp blue eyes with her own. "Siarya! It's been months, hasn't it?"

Siarya's eyebrows rose and she fought to restrain her scowl. She_ hated_ her cousin. One time, she remembered that Sabeline had spilled wine all over Siarya's new white dress when she had visited for the summer two years ago. Sabeline had simply apologized and laughed about it, claiming she was clumsy and blushing wildly in front of the men that were there. "I hadn't kept track."

"Certainly. I was beginning to miss my favorite cousin." Sabeline laughed and bumped shoulders with Siarya, who stood rigidly.

"Sabeline has been quite busy lately," Aunt Helena spoke imperiously, smiling widely. "With Michael's wife having her second son, it's just been hectic for our side of the family. You remember your other cousin, Siarya? Well, his wife Juliette is a very sweet girl. Sabeline has been befriending her and since Juliette's mother was taught by a famous musician, Juliette is very experienced and has been tutoring Sabeline in violin and piano."

"Have you any talent in the musical arts?" Sabeline questioned in a light, chiming voice alongside her mother. "It's quite a favorable skill."

"Siarya is not taught the arts, dear child," The Queen smiled charismatically as she answered for Siarya, her hard eyes fixated on her niece. Siarya swore she could see Sabeline flush slightly at her Aunt's gaze. "She is taught the laws of propriety and etiquette required for Sephoria. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Not surprising." Aunt Helena responded with a soft cough.

"I write quite well." Siarya added hopelessly, her eyes glancing between them.

Her Aunt nodded in acknowledgement, but it was short and meaningless. "That's nice, dear."

Siarya was then silently pushed into an absence of sound by her mother for the rest of the time spent with the couple, for unmentioned reasons of the chance of being asked any questions that could harm Siarya's reputation of great ladylike knowledge.

Her mother had a way of doing this; always speaking in such a way that every eye could turn upon her and forget that any other individual of importance was near. Perhaps that was why Aunt Helena was always so jealous.

Aunt Helena was not the only family member she knew, either; Queen Genevieve had a brother as well, a Duke by the name of Beckett. He lived near Aunt Helena's estate and he doted on Evermarie and Eriana, but refused to believe that Siarya was a good niece. He never mistreated Siarya directly, although he was an expert in passive-aggression and hardly ever spoke as kindly of her as her sisters.

Perhaps she had spit up on him as a child and that had just scarred him forever or something. She didn't really know what his problem was, and she never felt like asking. His wife, however, seemed nice enough considering she always sent her lace garments and random perfumes as if to make up for her husband's attitude.

Siarya also had two Uncles and an Aunt on her father's side. The Duke and Duchess of Parvicum, a Kingdom very far away from Sephoria, where her cousins lived—Annamarie and Madeline. They were around her age and were apparently quiet pleasant, but they never visited during the holidays.

Her second Aunt, Lady Carina, was married to a Lord Phillip, who apparently had been married four times. She had one son; Siarya's cousin, Eugene, who was just under two years old. She was a nice woman who occasionally sent letters, but remained basically isolated from the family.

And then there was Uncle Gabriel. As far as Siarya knew, he never left his castle and he refused all offers of marriage from fathers who wished to marry off their daughters. He seemed to favor Siarya more than anybody else in the family, however, as he always sends her gifts, but he never dared to visit. The family hardly spoke of him.

She left her family's conversation and danced with a few more partners, conversing with others delightfully. She felt happy, as usual, while surrounded by graceful dancing figures and tall, golden walls. The sky outside was speckled with glittering stars that decorated the ceiling-tall windows.

If she asked for wine, there was always a server to help her. If she asked for a dance, nobody would ever decline. Everyone was here because of her. Everyone admired, loved, and respected her—they gave her gifts, compliments, and their loyalty. Because of this, she knew she was incredible; how could others resist her?

But there was a particular sensation that Siarya couldn't shake; a feeling that she was being watched. Usually it was normal for others to watch her, for she thought of herself as fascinating. But it was a different kind of feeling; she wasn't sure how it was different.

Feeling fatigued from the dancing, she exited the Dancing Nest with a glass of wine. In the large corridor that separated the courtyard from the Dancing Nest, Julietta and Shantaina were conversing with one of the many wealthy elders. Seeing Siarya, they excused themselves to complain about the quickness of the music and the lack of young men.

After agreeing with them whole-heartedly, they moved into the courtyard which lay directly under the large balcony that sprouted from the Dancing Nest. The sound of metal against metal caught her attention as a man with a sword fought a knight in armor.

"Why in the world are they dueling tonight?" Julietta asked, shocked. "Prancing around like wild animals."

Siarya noticed a man's laugh, for which she recognized easily. In the corner, surrounded by many men, stood William. His hair was ruffled and his cheeks tinted from the wine and laughter. He looked slightly dazed.

Siarya barely noticed as one of the knights fell to his opponents knees, clearly beaten. She was too consumed wondering why William was stumbling around like he was-she had never seen him drunk.

Somebody shook her shoulder. "Sia, look!"

I heard Shantaina gasp. "Oh my, it's a woman!"

Siarya reluctantly moved her gaze from William to the knight who had gained victory. To her surprise, it was indeed a woman. The silvery long hair that was revealed after taking off her helmet showed proof of a female. She was slim and well-built for a woman, although she could not possibly be a knight.

"Who is she?" Siarya whispered to one of the knights who stood watching.

"A Templar," He replied back after a small bow for respect. "A rank under Gladiator, such as the Captain William."

Siarya's eyes widened. "But she's a—"

"Woman, we know," he interrupted gruffly. After noticing Siarya's expression, he corrected himself quickly. "Pardon me, your highness. I hadn't meant to interrupt."

"How inappropriate," Siarya sniffled haughtily, referring to the woman dressed in armor. "She is no lady."

But the knight had already moved on to another crowd as Siarya stood watching the woman. She wondered what thoughts went through the woman's mind; did she have any sanity left?

Julietta and Shantaina conversed with low voices on their disgust over a woman acting like she belonged in something such as an army. It was manhood that belonged in wars, not fragile and lovely beings such as women. This lady was no lady, but an embarrassment to womanhood.

They distracted Siarya long enough for the mysterious woman to walk over to the Princess. Siarya felt dumbfounded as the woman bowed respectfully. Siarya felt sick looking at her.

"Greetings, your highness. Are you well this evening?" Her voice was smooth and it had an accent to it that Siarya couldn't name.

"I'm decent." She replied swiftly.

The woman smirked, which confused Siarya. Shouldn't she be intimidated? "My name is Niera."

"I did not ask for your name."

"Well, I suppose I made it easier. Now you know." Niera said blatantly. She began to clean the silver blade of her sword with a thin stained cloth in front of the Princess as if Siarya's company was as important as the arrival of a Royal dog.

Shantaina coughed at Niera's directness.

Siarya tilted her head. She disliked this woman. "Forgive me if you find this offensive, but you fight like a man. Why do you do so? I speak on behalf for your reputation, darling, but you won't find a husband if you keep acting like a barbarian."

Niera looked up with an expression of shock, but then merely shook her head and chuckled loudly which made Siarya uncomfortable. "The average lady would rather have beauty than brains because the average gentlemen can _see _better than he can think. What makes you think _I_ desire a husband?"

"What makes you think you shall not be punished for your disrespect to the Princess of Sephoria?" Julietta retorted sharply. "You are to regain yourself, Templar."

Niera pursed her lips. "I do not imply to give any disrespect to the lovely Princess of Sephoria, ladies. I am merely giving her advice."

Siarya raised her eyebrow. "Advice is the last thing I require from a barbarian such as you."

"Are you sure?" Niera peered up at the balcony above. "You are being watched. Be careful for who you think you love, Princess. You might wish to know how to protect yourself from what you call _real_ men and women."

She then left with a swift courtesy. Siarya looked up reluctantly to see a lovely woman with fiery red hair garbed in bright emerald green tresses and glittering jewelry. She watched her with sharp blue eyes as Siarya stared in awe. The red hair from the Rose Garden?

But the moment they made eye contact, the woman disappeared. Julietta and Shantaina were slow; they claimed they saw no lady or gentleman. But Siarya did.


	4. Friend In Me

**AN: **Ugh, I hated writing some of the scenes in the last chapter. William's character is just... _blegh_ xD

* * *

**Chapter Three**

**Friend In Me**

Days slowly dragged on as Siarya fell into the usual routine of etiquette lessons, tea, dinner parties, and dancing. It was quite exhausting, for everyday was hard work. Of course, the peasants and merchants didn't understand how hard the life of a Royal was. Despite Siarya's endless happiness, being a Royal comes with responsibilities. A peasant couldn't possibly handle anything Siarya does in a day; they simply were not capable enough.

Siarya was sewing an exquisite pillow as a gift for her Governess with Evermarie when she heard the trumpets blowing in arrival. It was the evening of the fifth day of waiting for William to return from a hunting trip.

"Oh my!" Siarya dropped the objects near her bedside when she heard the sounds. "I wonder if they're back. Could it be?"

"I assume there will be some kind of feast if they are," Evermarie replied, still deep into her sewing. "Something to celebrate their hunting accomplishments."

"I should greet them," Siarya gazed into a mirror, studying her appearance. "They may be starved for socialization."

"Alas, sweet sister," Evermarie sounded anxious. "Are you sure you wish to go down there?"

Siarya glanced at her, confused. "What do you mean?"

Evermarie waved her hand dismissively. "Never mind. Go, and come back soon. It would be unladylike to stay up past curfew."

Siarya curtsied to her own sister. "Of course. Goodnight, Marie."

Evermarie murmured farewell as Siarya slipped through the large mahogany doors.

~.~

Siarya scurried down the corridors in anticipation. Perhaps they would be celebrating in the most extravagant dining hall? She smoothed down her dress, hoping it would be flattering enough.

She moved towards the direction of the Hollow's most glamorous dining hall, but stopped short when she heard booming voices and loud laughter coming from farther up the corridor, leading towards one of the courtyards.

_Why would they be celebrating there? _She thought as her feet pattered against the marble floors. She turned to see a group of laughing men standing near the firelight of the hearth in the middle of the courtyard. People, Siarya knew not, tended to the corpses of the animals they had killed by taking them from the tired men and to the direction of the Hollow butchery.

"And that's how you take out a wild panthra!" A voice boomed out as men laughed. Siarya wondered if they could be any louder. "Give it a slap and it'll act just like a woman!"

Siarya didn't understand the joke, but she recognized the voice. William. He stood in the center of the crowd with a crystal mug in his hand. A brown liquid spilled on his hand as he waved his arm around. "It'll taste just as good, too!"

Men roared in amusement, and Siarya stepped cautiously out from the shadows. She didn't understand the joke they were laughing about. "William?"

The men didn't notice her, and neither did he. He seemed to be distracted by everything else around him as he made jokes. Her heart skipped a beat when she heard women laughing as well; three at the most. Looking closer, she saw two brunettes and a red headed woman.

Siarya tilted her head. The fiery red hair? Again?

"William!" Siarya called out, trying to catch his attention. He didn't notice.

"—and you know what the boar did? He got a horn up his ass. Am I right?!" William boasted as their laughter rumbled like thunder. Siarya felt her hands turning cold.

"William!" Siarya cried out desperately.

"Inside!" They hollered as they stumbled inside the corridor opposite from which she came. Siarya followed aimlessly.

Siarya watched as they filled mugs with beer and whiskey and joked. William was the center of attention as he told stories that the others found utterly amusing. It was when his words began to slur that Siarya finally walked towards him and touched his shoulder.

He raised his eyebrow as he turned his head. Siarya was surprised to see his lovely eyes bloodshot, and how dumbfounded he really seemed to look. But at the sight of her he grinned widely and gave her one of the largest hugs she has ever encountered. Siarya blinked, overwhelmed. The gentleman in William seemed to vanish, for he would have never done such a thing.

"William," Siarya pushed him away. It was a hard feat since he was such a big man. "What's wrong with you? You're not yourself."

"Friends, gather around!" He demanded cheerfully. William grabbed Siarya's waist and held her close, directly under his arm like she was one of his best mates. _So much for creating distance, _she thought wryly. "We are in the midst of the Princess!"

Siarya swallowed nervously. There was not one man in the nest who didn't frighten her slightly. Some men grinned cheekily and tried to touch her, which Siarya avoided. Some bowed dizzily, nearly falling down in the process, which earned more laughs from the men. Others chuckled and joked about stubborn women.

"Pretty little thing, ain't she?" William boasted, his hand tightening on her hip. For once, she didn't like his compliment. For the first time she didn't like his hands on her.

"William, let me go." Siarya said quietly. She was surrounded by drunken men. This was not a position she was used to, and she could feel the rising panic beginning to come over her.

William chuckled, but he didn't let her go. "I _know_, sweet thing. But don't you want to have fun? You've been kept up for so long. Gods, I bet you're _tight."_

Siarya blanched, wondering if she actually understood that reference. But William wouldn't say something so crude. It must mean something else.

Then she saw one of the laughing brunettes being pulled into the shadows by two men. She suddenly felt sick to her stomach. The other brunette and the red-headed woman stood by William. The two women were also intoxicated, it seemed. The red-head giggled as she twirled a lock of Siarya's hair with her forefinger. "I thought you knew, sweetie. William will show you a great—"she hiccupped, "—night."

Everything froze when William put his mouth against the brunette's, his arm still hanging on to Siarya, kissing her like he kissed Siarya in the Rose Garden.

And then it all came rushing to her. _Oh Gods. _

"William!" Siarya cried out with shock and disbelief. Tears of horror formed in her eyes. She was trapped between two whores and the man she wished to marry; she was caught in the current of sickening twists and menacing kisses. Her stomach threatened to vomit. "Stop!"

_Stop this nonsense. Make the fear go away. _

William did stop, but only to switch to the red-head. As they kissed, Siarya struggled to get out of his grip. This was wrong—it was all wrong. William was her love, her Charming; how could he do this to her? How could the men just watch and laugh and encourage?

"Where are you going?" He moaned darkly, pulling her in. His hands were moving dangerously close to her breasts, even if they weren't touching skin, "We only just started."

Siarya cried out as he attempted to kiss her. Her struggles only amused him. "_It'll be fun…" _the red-head whispered in her ear as she whimpered.

He crushed his lips against hers. It felt slobbery and uncomfortable, and most of all, violating. She attempted to push him back, but he held her head with his hand. Forcing her mouth open with his tongue, she squealed in protest as he clawed at her gown.

_Stop it. Stop, stop, stop—_

She hit and kicked until he forced her onto the ground where he sat on top of her, his legs straddling her and pinning her to the cobblestone. She screamed but he shushed her, clamping her mouth shut with his hand. His eyes were glazed over with intoxication; hers were filled with tears of terror.

_No, no, no. _

"What the fuck is going on?" A voice called out from behind, sounding almost incredulously bored and annoyed. It was a woman's. "What in the name of—_William! _Let her go, you ass!"

William stopped momentarily to turn around. Siarya gaped as she saw Niera, still in her slim silver armor. William laughed at the sight of her, however, for she was just another woman. He swiveled himself back around to Siarya, who still lay underneath him. "By all means, come join us."

"Are you deaf? I said let her go." Niera repeated. Siarya breath halted at the deadly, monotonous sound of her voice.

"Or what?" He sneered, holding Siarya with an iron grip as he stood up, pulling her along with him. She gasped at the bruises that were beginning to sprout from his harsh fingers. She was being thrown around like a ragdoll, and yet she was still too terrified to fight back. Something inside Siarya felt gratitude for Niera for being so brave, but her dignity pushed it back.

"Do we _really _have to go through this?" Niera looked irritated as she took a few slow steps forward. "I've beaten you once, I can beat you again. In front of your buddies this time, I must add. Now _do_ as I say, damn it."

William's cheeks turned beet red from the apparent secret. The laughing men suddenly turned silent in bewilderment. _She beat him in combat?_

_A woman beat the Captain?_

Surprisingly, William pushed Siarya towards Niera. Siarya felt her body shaking from sickness and fear. "You can have her. She's useless anyways."

Niera shook her head carelessly as she gripped Siarya's arm tightly. Siarya felt as though she was going to pass out. "Come with me." She whispered.

"The other women…"

"The other women were asking for it. Literally." Niera pulled her by her arm as the men stepped out of their way. It seemed as though some were almost scared of her. She kept Siarya from falling as they moved up the corridor, away from the drunken men and William. Siarya began to sob hysterically.

"Come on, in here." Niera ushered Siarya into what seemed to be one of the guest bedchambers. Siarya, half-blind, stumbled onto the canopy bed as her body wracked with sobs.

"How could he do this to me?" She wailed. "He has broken my heart!"

"And what a heart you have…" Niera murmured as she picked up a log from the crate of wood and threw it into the fireplace. A large crackling fire sprung from the coal.

"The men just stood there and watched! I am Royalty!" Siarya cried.

"It's all shocking, really," Niera replied sarcastically as she sat near the fireplace. It emanated great warmth, but not enough comfort to assuage the anxiety in the nest. "Do you know what they do, Princess? They kill things. They fuck, eat, and sleep, and when they have some free time, they fuck some more. What else could you expect? Kisses and flowers? No. That's too simple for those kinds of men. I don't even know what you saw in Will, for a first."

_Will? _She thought miserably. _Did he like being called Will? Did he always sleep with women when I didn't know?_

Siarya continued to cry out like a young child. She picked up a pillow and threw it at the door. "But he loved me!"

"Don't be a fool!" Niera hissed angrily. "Look at yourself; do you think he truly loved you?"

A sudden rage hit Siarya like a stone to her heart. She felt cheated, tricked, betrayed, and humiliated. How could she have been so ignorant? She was beautiful! She was powerful! And yet still she found herself being taken advantage of. _For how long?_

Siarya sniffled. "I'd watch your tongue if I were you. I could have you reported."

Niera laughed, which shocked Siarya. "Don't forget to add how much you owe me."

Siarya moaned and resumed crying, salty tears and snot running down her face.

"Good heavens, child!" Niera said as she grabbed a handkerchief from the fireplace mantelpiece. "Calm yourself!"

"I—I can't!" Siarya sobbed and took the handkerchief from Niera's outstretched hand. "I'm ruined! I was tricked! I wish to die!"

Niera quickly scanned Siarya's body for any sign of damage. "You're _fine."_

Siarya whimpered miserably, touching her mouth with the backs of her curled fists. How many times has she kissed William? How many times had she pledged her faith to him? Now her fantasy of happily-ever-after was ruined. He was far from charming.

Niera sighed as she sat on a chair that was closer to Siarya. She leaned back slowly and closed her eyes. "Do you know how exhausting it is to be around you?"

Siarya fumbled with her gown. She did not reply.

Niera chuckled, which momentarily surprised her. "You know, I'm actually kind of glad this happened. It's about time you learned a lesson."

"Pardon?" Siarya's voice cracked.

Niera looked at Siarya. "No one can have a higher opinion of you than I have, and I think you're a slimy, selfish rat of a girl who's never experienced a bit of compassion for others in her entire life. Tell me, Princess, how much do you value yourself over others?"

Siarya, furious, sat up from the bed. This woman, Niera, made her feel inadequate. She hated every bit of it. She hated that she had been stupid, _again_. She had made the wrong choice, _again._ After trying so hard, after doing everything she could to make the _right_ choices only—how could she have failed another time?

And what would be the consequences?

She wouldn't dare tell Niera the answer to that question. Instead, she spat out almost violently, "Deceiving others! That is what the world calls a romance? I am perfectly content living in the Hollow where you can't get _hurt._ William was… a _mistake_."

"You realize that _now_?"

"You ought to watch your tongue more." Siarya repeated as she choked on her tears.

Niera narrowed her eyes. "I tend to be direct, Princess. I do not lie, nor do I coat words with sweetness."

"Then… Then you are one of the strangest women I have ever met!" Siarya intended to insult her, but her voice broke making herself sound weaker. She could feel her cheeks burning.

"Look at me, Princess," Niera backed up a few steps to display herself, her arms flourishing upwards. "What do you see?"

Siarya furrowed her brows, feeling somewhat nervous. She didn't want to answer that.

She knew how she viewed Niera before. She remembered the names she had called the woman, the way everything did was barbaric and horrific, like she was part of committing some bigger crime.

Thinking of it now, though, it all seemed far away and pointless. Niera, a woman who had been nothing but a distant vision to criticize, was now up close and just _real._ No longer a mere sight, but a person, with a mind to speak for. And seeing her now, a new feeling began to boil up inside her, and with a clash of shock she realized it was _regret_.

Gut-twisting, heart-thudding regret.

And for what? Siarya shook her head, fighting off the urge to answer. Niera was everything that she didn't understand. She was everything that her mother wanted her not to be. She was _confusing._

Niera, someone Siarya had called a barbarian, was the woman who saved her. She held more compassion inside of her in the one minute it had taken for her to rescue Siarya from William's grasp than any of the men who had been present for so much longer. She had been the white knight, and no one else—which meant Siarya was _wrong._

Again.

Siarya wanted to be honest. She didn't want to be mean.

Yet that was all she had ever been.

And Niera just stood there, waiting for an answer that Siarya wasn't sure how to give. Niera was tall and slim, and Siarya wondered how she could have ever thought she wouldn't be capable of acquiring a husband, because although Niera's beauty wasn't traditional, she was still stunning. The nest was dark other than the vibrant flames in the fireplace, so the bright silver of her armor—an outfit Niera never happened to change out of, it seemed—was dimmed into a plain grey. But the light of the fire caught on her hair, causing her moon-white locks to gleam in long ripples. Her eyes were shadowed and devoid of color, but they were shining and alert with liveliness, a sort of sight Siarya didn't often catch in other people's gazes. It was tough and penetrating, and heavy enough to make it difficult to withstand being under her surveillance. She had the sort of eyes a soldier needed; a vision where she could see everything, like through people's minds, or through an upcoming attack.

Niera was slim and muscled, with a proud stance and a daring posture. She was a storm to be reckoned with, and Siarya could see that just from the way she created her presence.

She was, in conclusion, a woman with a fighting chance. If Siarya had been right about one thing, it was that Niera was certainly no lady, but something else entirely. A commander.

Somehow, Siarya envied that.

After a moment more of thought, Siarya finally spoke, her voice cracking in the process. "I see you."

Niera stopped in surprise, her arms faltering as they fell back to her sides. "And?"

"And what?"

"And what else? What do you see?"

"I told you," Siarya replied tiredly, her tirade of crying and grief beginning to slip away from her. "I just see you."

"Oh, so you're telling me that you don't see a barbarian standing in front of you?" Niera's eyes narrowed dangerously in anger as she took a step forward. Siarya suddenly became apprehensive, knowing this woman could beat her up without a doubt if she wanted to. "You're not going to call me a man, or tell me that I'm destined for—what was it, you said? Marital failure?"

"That was before I really talked to you." Siarya replied defensively. She began to pull at the threads of her gown, and she reminded herself that she should ask her seamstress about all the lose threads.

"So that's just the way you greet people, huh?" Niera glared at her, and Siarya shrunk backwards in fear and shame. "And you have the actual nerve to call yourself charming."

"I don't usually talk to people like I did with you, alright?" Siarya argued, her heart pounding against her ribcage. Her cheeks felt hot with humiliation and guilt, and the burning sensation was beginning to tickle down her neck as well. "In fact, I don't usually talk to people like you at all. I didn't mean to insult you—well, I mean, I did _then_, but I didn't like you before—but now, I do and so I don't want to insult you anymore, and I really don't want to offend you, it's just that I don't know how to talk to you."

Niera's face twisted into an odd expression, and she shook her head. "Good Gods, child. What are you trying to say?"

"I'm sorry, I guess." Siarya blurted. The words felt unfamiliar on her tongue, and she could physically feel her pride diminishing.

Niera crossed her arms. She was staring at Siarya with a look of interest. "I can bet a lot of gold that you can't remember the last time you said those words to someone."

Siarya blushed wildly and averted her eyes, because no—she couldn't remember. She remained silent and focused on the tapestry on the wall, attempting to slowly take the edge of the embarrassment away.

With a roll of her eyes, Niera sighed. "Your apology was awful. However, because I'm marvelously lenient, I'll accept it."

Siarya huffed angrily, looking up at her. She was beginning to feel fed up with being criticized for one night. She had never felt so wrong in her entire life. "What's the point of this?"

"No point, really," Niera answered simply. She sounded almost amused. "But I have a question."

"What is it?"

She leaned in towards Siarya as if to tell her a secret. "Have you ever used a sword?"

Siarya's eyes widened in response.

"The men in the military don't like training with women, and I need a training buddy," Niera grinned. "And I think you're going to do just fine."


	5. Responsibility

**One Year Before**

**"The Rise"**

* * *

**Chapter Four**

**Responsibility**

"Ha!" Siarya thrust her sword towards Niera, blocking the upcoming blow. "I'm winnnning!"

"Not for long," Niera grunted as she twisted her sword to knock Siarya's out of her hand. Siarya parried it. "I'm going easy on you."

"You've been saying that a _lot_ lately." Siarya laughed as she bounced backwards to avoid a slash. She kept her elbows bent and close to her body as she held the sword in a position that ran from the bottom of her torso to the top of her head.

Siarya felt slightly groggy for it was still early afternoon, and the air had not let go of its icy crispness of the morning. The sky's bright sapphire image displayed the hundreds of stars that detained any chance of losing their everlasting visibility. They dueled in the western region of the Hollow where they were rarely ever bothered because of the tall wooden walls and the lack of occupants.

"Just admit it!" Niera thrust her sword forward and it clanged against Siarya's as she blocked Niera's blow. "You're scared!"

"You mean I'm a natural." Siarya bragged as she sidestepped Niera's lunge.

"Took you about seven months," Niera snickered as Siarya barely raised her sword in time to block off one of Niera's graceful, yet deadly swings. "I do believe you're missing one of your Etiquette lessons. What a proper young lady you're turning out to be—"

"Oh, it's not the first time I've missed a lesson—" Siarya shrugged, enjoying this. "—and it won't be the last. But what can I say? I'm a rebel."

"A rebel indeed," Niera agreed, rather amused. "You have a lot of nerve for bragging to your mentor, little chick."

"I don't know, Niera. You may not be a rebel of sorts, but you are definitely no lady."

"Says who? I've got the bosom to show it!" Niera charged as she brought her sword down on Siarya, which she barely missed. Their swords clashed steel against steel, with loud vigorous crashes. Siarya lunged and slashed at Niera's shins, which scraped against her armor. Laughing, Niera maneuvered her sword as Siarya attempted to parry, but ended up having her sword flying out of her hand.

Niera caught Siarya's sword in triumph. "I win."

"You caught me off guard." Siarya panted. She held out her hand for the sword.

Niera gave Siarya's sword back to her teasingly. "Excuses, you bluffer."

Siarya swung her sword in the air, the steel glinting silver in the daylight. "I'm not bluffing, old lady. Do a rematch with me."

"I think not." A cold, timid voice testified from below. Siarya's heart skipped a beat, thudding wildly as her blood ran cold. Niera and she automatically stilled as Siarya quickly put her sword in Niera's hands, as if the golden hilt of the sword has burned her fingers.

Siarya turned to face the Queen, feeling nauseous. "Greetings, mother."

Her mother, with all her radiant beauty, darkened malignantly. "_Seriously,_ Siarya?"

Siarya's cheeks blushed pink in shame. The Queen laid her eyes on Niera, who stiffened and raised her chin to meet those eyes—it looked like an action of confidence, yet Siarya knew it was a soldier's way of submission. "And _you—_you wicked woman. It was a privilege for you to have been put in the rank of a Templar, and yet you treat Royalty with this kind of disrespect?"

Niera then bowed her head in anguish. She couldn't speak, Siarya knew, for it would make things worse.

"Mother, it's my fault. I ordered her to." Siarya pleaded. She stopped abruptly when the Queen's icy gaze cut through her words.

"Don't make things worse," the Queen's dark eyes narrowed as she took a step forward. She wore white silk today. Diamonds and crystals decorated the lovely gown which glittered with every move she made. "I will speak to you alone, Siarya. Considering the chances of finding you here, it's a matter of urgency."

Niera understood and curtsied. She was gone in a flash, and Siarya wished she was too. She held her head low as she tried to avoid eye contact. The Queen's eyes had always been rather cold and cruelly judgmental, and very sharp. The sight of them set Siarya on edge.

There was a short, agonizing silence as the Queen glared at her with her unfavorable eyes. "You should be at no loss, my daughter, on why I wish to speak to you alone," her words cut through the air like a knife. Another moment of silence. "Even though your worsening disobedient actions shall be the death of me, you still thrive to act like an inferior _thing._" She spit out sourly.

"Mother, she is my friend. My only friend." Siarya's voice wavered.

The Queen tilted her head. Siarya wasn't sure if it was of sympathy or unkind pitying. "You had friends, sweetheart. Glorious friends. Shantaina? Julietta? _Elizabeth?_ They were pleasant and agreeable young women _without_ a sword in hand."

"And they left me—"

"I warn you, Siarya," the Queen interrupted coldly, raising a warning hand. If there was any kindness in her last statement it had left as quickly as it had come. "I am not to be trifled with. You and I both know that the Templar is the reason for your disobedience and disgusting behavior. No ladies would want to be in sight with a _thing_ like _her."_

Siarya bit her lip, holding back protests.

The Queen took a breath. "I am anxious that you will forget your status, Siarya, as a Royal and your responsibilities to be one. You are next in marriage and despite your agreeable appearance, your manners as unfavorable as a pig. To have caught you with a sword in hand? It is unthinkable. If Eriana had seen any part of what you've been doing, do you realize the consequences of what could happen? You have become a bad influence, Siarya, and through this you have dishonored your family."

Siarya tensed. She knew those words had been coming, and she didn't dare speak out against it. Instead her blood boiled in her veins as hurt washed over her, and she was suddenly fighting the urge to cry.

But crying would do no good in this situation, so she bit her tongue.

"Hoping, yet deceiving myself that you were becoming the lady the Kingdom _needs_ you to be, I had meant to speak to you at your Etiquette lesson. Unfortunately, the only lady I saw present was Eriana," the Queen stated, aggravated. "Like I said, I dearly hope that she finds you less of a role model than she does Evermarie."

"I just wanted to try the sword." Siarya said quietly, eyes burning.

"You can't _handle_ a sword!" The Queen hissed and Siarya's instincts immediately felt danger. There was something about her mother that always made her nervous; no compassion, ever. Nothing but a chillingly bare sort of love. "You are a Princess! You have duties, responsibilities—the use of a sword is not one of them. You are aware of this, Siarya, as I have been informing you of such things since you were a young child. Do not lie to me."

"But I was really good at it—!"

"—do you truly believe this is what's best for you?" The Queen lifted Siarya's chin with her fingers, and Siarya fought the urge to brush her off. "Why must you be one of those difficult young Princesses who refuse to abide the rules because of their own desire to be rebellious? You must know their happy endings only occur in the storybooks, my child. If you knew the true ending, you'd find yourself in the fiery pits of Totorous."

The name _Totorous _sent chills down her spine. The underworld for the terrible things.

"All I've done is fight with a sword. How terrible could it possibly be?"

"You're missing lessons. Forgetting your responsibilities will be the ruin of the land of which you will end up ruling over if you continue this insanity. Do you truly pretend to be ignorant of it?"

Siarya turned her head away from her mother, realizing her mistakes reluctantly. "I will go to my lessons. I shall not be disobedient."

"And can you declare that not only shall you not be disobedient, but you will have no purpose in creating or committing to anything to provoke your actions that encourage your selfish behavior?"

"I am your daughter. You raised me well," Siarya argued. "I am not that selfish."

"When it comes to this, I am the Queen—not your mother," the Queen said without hesitation. "And I demand that you retreat from the selfish act of swordplay and redeem yourself. This is an order."

Siarya's eyes narrowed, and for once, her anger got the better of her. "I shall not be cruelly forced to feel shame for picking up a damn sword."

The Queen held her hand to her chest in disbelief as if she were having a heart attack. "You rotten, insolent child. How dare you?"

"Why can't you just be happy that I'm good at something for once?" Siarya cried as humiliation began to build inside her. "I've done everything you've ever asked of me. Why can't you just be _okay?"_

The Queen straightened up, appearing almost hostile. "You will not speak, converse, or even look at the Templar again. I do not wish to see you anywhere near the arena, or you shall be severely punished. If this continues to progress, then you shall be sent off. I will not allow such acts of inferiority any longer. You will do what others demand of you, do you understand? You possess no free will, Siarya, and that is a fact until you find it in yourself to behave."

Silence hung through the air heavily as the Queen awaited an answer. When Siarya spoke it was weak and mournful. "Yes, mother. I understand. I shall follow orders."

The Queen lifted her head, slightly pleased. "And will you promise never to return to such a state of pathetic intolerance?"

A part of Siarya squirmed at the thought of bowing down again, losing the fight again, but the words came out of her mouth like habit. "Yes, mother."

Siarya walked away from her with a shaky curtesy, holding back her tears like a rein to a wild horse. The Queen called out from behind with a tone of surprising amusement. "Don't think you won't be punished for this incident."

Siarya shut her eyes tightly. What more could her mother take away from her? Being restricted from flying was like keeping a bird in a cage, and Niera had been her only friend to spend time with. Now she had very little—it was the absolute truth that Siarya could not battle. Fighting the urge to scream, she scurried into a long corridor, her heels pattering against the marble. She wasn't entirely sure of where she intended to go, but her legs kept walking. Part of her wanted to go to Eriana. The other part wished to escape everything—but of course, that was out of the question.

Niera had helped her up when she stumbled. She had become her friend when Julietta, Shantaina, Elizabeth, and everyone else had left her in fear of being ridiculed because of her newfound interest in the common good. She had laughed at her jokes, and had sought her attention in a way that no one has ever given Siarya before.

Niera was honest and frank, and Siarya admired that about her. To have a real best friend for the first time in her life, spending time with Niera had become an addiction.

But Siarya was to be forbidden to be any more than acquaintances with anyone lower in rank than her, and yet all those equal and above she did not even wish to talk with. They were all so unsatisfying. They didn't make Siarya feel like Niera made her feel_. Like they actually cared about her._

The only thing she ever liked about talking to the Royals was that she could pretend that there was a gigantic horse shitting on their head, which is why they make such sour faces when they talk to people.

Finding her bedchambers, she slammed the door. She wished she could lock it, but as a lady of Royalty, the Queen had usually thought of locked doors as unattractive for someone of such importance.

"A Princess should never lock her doors. It means she has something to hide!" She'd say, with her nose up in the air. _Ugh._

Yet, Siarya's bedchambers had been a sanctuary for the times she couldn't be with Niera. When she wasn't having tea with a lady of wealth or discussing politics with a man with the wig the size of a whale, she was in her bedchambers. It was solitary and quiet. The walls were made of shimmering white granite which contrasted with the colorful scenery in the gigantic, wide windows that ranged many feet. Lovely maroon curtains and dark furniture scattered the massive nest, sitting atop multiple exquisite rugs. The chandeliers that hung from the ceiling caused the moonstone walls to glitter dashingly when every shift in the air was made.

But what Siarya truly loved about the nest was the carvings in the walls. Carvings of people and stars and wonderful things that Siarya tended to make stories out of. But instead of gazing upon the lovely pictures, she sat next to the fireplace and put her face in her hands.

Perhaps it was better to be alone with only a bedchamber to comfort her, she thought scornfully.

The moment the thoughts crossed her mind, trumpets sounded near the drawbridge of the Hollow. She could hear crowds applauding.

Instantly she knew; after a year of being in Amontae, her eldest sister had returned. It was nearing the summer solstice and it was tradition that family married off would come visit their homeland. Of course, Evermarie was the first to be married, so it was a tradition brought back after many years.

Siarya sighed and walked out into the balcony. The emerald hills of Sephoria seemed to glow in the light of Sephoria's star. A river flowed through the cracks of the hills, glistening turquoise. A slight breeze caressed her face and she took a deep breath, taking in the scent of grass and trees.

The time was nearing six, and she was sure that a large feast would be arranged. It was the last thing Siarya desired at the moment; she felt tired, and strained to go back out there and face the people who she knew didn't really care much for the Royals.

Someone surely would be bound to look for her when they notice her absence. Perhaps a maid would be sent up, or even her Governess.

Siarya studied the greyish stone walls behind her, covered in climbable vines, and then eyed the towering roof. She tilted her head curiously.

~.~

Siarya sat on the highest point of the roof with an apple. She was sure that her gown was becoming filthier the longer she sat atop there, but she honestly didn't mind. There was no wind tonight, nor was there cold. It was mildly warm, and she liked that.

She could hear music from below yet no one had come to find her yet. Siarya took a bite of the apple and sighed heavily as she studied the splendor of the starset over the Sephorian lands. The sky was in glorious shades of pinks and maroons. The emerald hills were beginning to be infested with fireflies and the tall mountains that ranged around half of the Hollow's walls were turning into mere silhouettes as the star's light shined behind them. She felt jealousy watching the people in the sky, their glorious white wings stretched and free.

Siarya studied her apple as she took another bite. It was a green apple; vibrant and sourly sweet. She admired green apples because they were different than ordinary red ones. They tasted more like candy than fruit.

She considered the scenery once more and found herself eying the Hollow's walls. What would her family do if she disappeared? Would they look for her? Would they mourn? Surely Niera would care; she would most likely come looking for her. Her loyalty was always her worst and best trait.

Siarya knew that she could just open her wings and fly away; it could be that easy. That simple… She could fly over the wild seas, wings rubbing against the stars in the lovely blue night, fingertips dancing along the snow-tipped mountains. She could live with gypsies and dance around campfires singing drunken songs, educate some peasant children who would learn to adore her instead of despise her by her status, learn new languages, fall in love with a stable boy somewhere, have children in a safe place where their innocent hearts wouldn't be spoiled by riches and power… She could fly alongside a herd of horses galloping like the wind, she could taste horrible food and get thrown into awkward situations that would embarrass her for life, but those things were just what she wanted. And that's what she needed; _life._ A real, genuine, chaotic life.

Although nothing could ever be that sweet; her family, Royals, guards, _anyone_ would find her. They always do, and then there will be severe punishment that Siarya was afraid of. They would fight her and tell her things she didn't want to hear, make her say words she didn't want to taste on her tongue, become something that someone should never be. A trophy wife, a whore to a tyrant ruler, a bloody porcelain doll in a wedding dress. A living ghost.

_It doesn't matter what it is_, her mind supplied. _As long as you do as they say. _

Siarya curled up in a ball and held herself, burying half of her face in her arms. If she could see herself now, she would call herself weak. Because despite the satisfaction she felt from rebelling, even though she hated herself for dishonoring her family, even though she _knew_ she was more than a pretty face, even though she could convince herself that she was better than a stupid little girl and that she could handle herself because she was as strong and clever as the warriors in her books, she knew it didn't matter.

She should be clever. She should be beautiful. She should be tiny and frail, but have curves, too. She should have big sparkling blue eyes, red lips, and lustrous golden hair. She should be perfect in every sense of the word, with an hourglass figure and a gift for sewing and baring handsome sons. She should know how to read, how to write, how to sit on a throne, how to know which fork to use at a dining table, how to charm a man with a single word, how to collect riches like scooping soil from the ground. She should be brave to stand up to people who intelligently oppose her, she should be strong and fierce and everything a revolutionary should be.

But that wasn't her, because she was just a girl with as much control in her own government as the servants cleaning the Hollow's chamber pots. She had the beauty, yes, and the charm, certainly—but she still felt undefined. Empty. She knew there were people with worse lives than her own, _Gods_ did she know that, and she wished she could take it all away.

She knew she was selfish. She had been self-absorbed all her life, and even as she tried to become better she still found she was _still_ just as selfish as the next Royal. How dare she complain about her life? How dare she feel pain, when there are others out there feeling so much worse? _How could I? _Her thoughts cried. _How could I think these things? _

_I'm not allowed this misery. I'm not worthy. _

She felt trapped and lonely, but most of all, she felt like she was drowning in the world that was asking so much of her. Piling up request after request, wanting her to do things, _needing_ her. She was the mother of the people. She had responsibilities.

She was the daughter of a family who needed her to become better.

She should feel determination to appease their worries, to help them, to know what to do in order to fix everything. But instead, her solutions refused to come to her aide, and she felt full of ignorance and stupidity. She had nothing to give them. She had no intelligent strategy to save them from the war, she had no courage to stand up to her superiors, and she had no strength of mind. She wasn't brave for them like she should be; she was _terrified._

So every time she walked outside with her signature smile that claimed she had her life together, she knew she really didn't know much of anything at all.


	6. Magic

**Chapter Five**

**Magic**

"This nest is dull," Eriana complained loudly. "Why must it be so dark?"

"Hush, child." Their Governess answered sharply. Unfortunately, no person of noble status seemed to mind her choice of behavior towards them simply because of her teachings. The Queen favored her far too much to see her away from the Hollow at most times, even though Siarya could hardly stand the woman.

The Governess sat at a large, abundant writing desk as she composed a letter of some sort. Listening to the scratching of her quill, Siarya wondered what her wings looked like. Pricking herself with a needle, Siarya winced with irritation at her handiwork. She truly did loath sewing.

Eriana pouted. "I wish to go outside. It's a lovely day, I must add."

_Perfect flying weather, _Siarya noted miserably. _Not that such a thing is important. _

The Governess inhaled, always exasperated. "You have much better things to do than playing around like a little child. I remember when I was your age—untrustworthy is what you are," She looked up at Eriana's handiwork, which was stunningly similar to Siarya's. "Tighten your stitches. You are slacking!"

"Yes, yes, I know," Eriana grumbled quietly. "You old hag."

Siarya giggled softly. "Tighten your stitches, she says."

Eriana pulled one of her strings harshly, causing the fabric to ripple. "I'll show her how to tighten stitches…"

"Shhh," Siarya smirked, nodding at the woman. "She has ears like one of father's hunting dogs."

"That's because she is one," Eriana snapped back. She pulled another stitch through her embroidery and glanced at Siarya with a ghost of a frown, before checking to see if the Governess was watching. "Hey… "

A knock at the door interrupted them and Eriana let out an irritated huff. The Governess puffed herself out and heaved up from the chair, her corpulent body billowing past the two of them who rolled their eyes in amusement.

"Your attendance is needed shortly in the blue nest, Governess." A man informed her from behind the door.

"Now?" She replied rather aggravated. "I'm teaching."

"_Not very well." _Eriana murmured, and Siarya sniggered loudly. The Governess glowered at her.

"I'm sorry, miss. It's necessary. Lady Beatrice requests it."

The Governess puffed out, evidently peeved. She made eye contact with the two girls. "I shall be back. I expect you to be nearly finished with your task when I return. Understand?"

"Nearly finished?" Eriana gaped in exasperation. "But we hardly just started!"

"And?"

"And there's no way we can finish this in the time you'll be gone," Eriana continued, obviously agitated. "You cannot honestly expect us to do such a thing. You're purposely setting us up for failure."

"Your failure isn't something that I need to set up," the Governess replied sharply. She puffed up her chest haughtily, as if trying to give her plump form more of an hourglass figure. "It is simply something natural that I am trying to wrestle out of your ignorant, abhorrent brains."

Siarya froze, anger beginning to fill her. Eriana's face turned pink with fury. "Why don't you piss off, you ugly pig!"

The Governess gasped. "I will report you to your mother, young lady. Your speech is highly inappropriate."

"Yeah, go ahead," Eriana threatened. "I'm not afraid of her, either."

"Eri…" Siarya spoke warningly, just under her breath. Even though she hated the Governess, it was not smart to anger her. Eriana may be fierce, but she wasn't the one with the power.

"You think that now," the Governess reprimanded her with a dark look. "But once I'm done with you, you won't have the tongue to speak out against me."

Eriana slammed her embroidery down. "You have no _right_ to speak to me like that!"

"I am your elder!" The Governess screeched. "I can do what I wish, and you have no obligation to oppose me," she pointed a thick finger at Eriana accusingly. "You follow my orders. You do what I say, and you do it without complaint. If I hear one more word from you, I will report you to the Queen and you will be forced to work in solitary confinement—"

A large crash interrupted the argument, and the nest fell silent as everyone's eyes fell upon one of the shelves across the nest. Almost every item on the shelves had flown off and had broken onto the floor.

"What in the name of Airia and Gabriel…" The Governess muttered, shuffling over to the mess with an expression of confusion. She glared up at Siarya and Eriana, who were sitting very still. She waved her finger at them again. "You clean this up before I get back, do I make myself clear? I don't know what you did, but you fix it."

Siarya looked over at Eriana, expecting a response, but she was surprised to see Eriana's face a pale white, her eyes wide and staring at the broken shards on the floor, unblinkingly. Her eyes were full of panic and fear, and it made Siarya's stomach twist.

"Um," Siarya cleared her throat and looked up at the Governess. "Yes, madam."

The wretched woman left the nest, and Siarya rejoiced by throwing her work to the floor. Eriana, however, remained stock-still and very quiet, her eyes trained on the shelves.

"Eri?" Siarya inquired softly. Worry began to sift through her thoughts. "You okay?"

Eriana blinked at her name, and then seemed to shudder out of her iciness. She stood up immediately, eyes still wide and panicked, and shakily motioned to the mess. "Come on. W-We have to clean it up. Before the hag comes again, I mean. S-she'll be mad if we don't…"

"What's wrong?" Siarya asked, but Eriana ignored her for the mess. Her movements were jerky and uncoordinated, and Siarya was suddenly afraid that she would cut herself on the shards of the broken items.

"Eri," Siarya stood up and motioned to grab Eriana's arm, but she pulled it away so sharply that it nearly pushed Siarya backwards in shock.

Eriana's voice was quivering. "Don't touch me!"

"Eri," Siarya said again, moving forward more cautiously this time. "Eri, stop."

"Shut up!" Eriana snapped at her. Her voice was so mean and defensive that it shocked Siarya, but her eyes focused on Eriana's trembling hands instead as they hastily swept up the debris. "I-I have to clean this up. I have to—"

A wave of concern swept through Siarya, and anger soon followed it. Eriana was being unreasonable. She was going to hurt herself if she kept working herself like this, and for seemingly no reason.

Siarya wasn't going to stand for it.

"Eri, _stop!"_ She demanded loudly before taking Eriana by the arms. She dragged her away from the mess, and Eriana struggled immediately—Siarya narrowly avoided being kicked in the leg, and that made things worse. "Stop it! You're going to cut yourself if you keep doing this—what's wrong with you?"

"I just—I can't—"Eriana whimpered, her eyes focused on the shards. "I have to clean it up. I can't let them know. I didn't mean to do it, I just got angry and it happened and I don't know what to do and I'm just so scared but I have to clean it up, because it's what I do and if I don't then they'll find out about everything, and I can't—I just _can't_—!"

"What are you talking about?" Siarya asked, her voice rising over Eriana's. She noticed her sister's fixation on the broken debris, and she instinctively pushed Eriana's face to meet her eyes, breaking her from the addictive trance. "Look at me, Eri. Stop struggling."

Eriana, as if now noticing she was struggling, fell limp in Siarya's arms and began to cry.

Siarya, overwhelmed with the sudden attack of emotions, wrapped her arms around Eriana in comfort. She didn't know what was wrong with her sister. She didn't know how Eriana could seek the blame of something so trivial. Surely, crying over a bunch of broken items—nothing significant but a couple of plates and trinkets—was a bit much.

Eriana was always sensitive, but she wasn't emotional. She knew how to handle herself. Right now, however, Siarya wasn't sure what to make of anything.

"Eri…" Siarya murmured over her sister's cries. Eriana's hands were fisted against her chest, clenching Siarya's gown. "Honey, why are you crying?"

"I can't tell you."

Siarya frowned in confusion. "Why not?"

"I just can't," Eriana replied frustratingly. "You don't understand."

Siarya fell into silence for a few moments. Eriana couldn't possibly be so broken up about the mess, could she? It wasn't her fault. Yet, here she was—crying. And Siarya wasn't sure how to fix it.

"It's not…" Siarya began, but then paused to think. "You don't actually think… I mean, you know that the shelf incident wasn't your fault… right?"

Eriana merely lowered her head, her tears sliding down her cheeks.

Her silence made Siarya's eyes go wide. "Eri—you can't possibly _believe _that. I mean, you were halfway across the nest! There was no way that you could've, what, knocked everything over? Come on."

Eriana looked up. Her face was flushed and puffy from crying. "But what if I could?"

Siarya stared at her, exasperated. "But you _can't."_

"But what if I _could?_" Eriana repeated. Her eyes seemed to be studying Siarya with a mixture of fear and doubt.

"If you could," Siarya began, unsure of what to say. "If you could, then that would be… crazy. That'd be insane. I mean, there's _no way_ that you could've done such a thing. You were right next to me."

Eriana remained quiet.

"It's not like you just magically made the stuff fly off the shelves, right?" Siarya said jokingly. But seeing Eriana's expression made her small grin falter, and Siarya was suddenly filled with dread. "…Right?"

Eriana swallowed visibly before turning her head to avoid Siarya's gaze. It wasn't a gesture of fear, but of shame.

Siarya's mouth fell open, but no words came out. She felt frozen as she gaped at her sister, before speaking almost breathlessly, "Eri..?"

Eriana covered her mouth and closed her eyes, as if she were about to vomit. But then she raised her other hand—palm up, fingers splayed, to a vase sitting on a small table near the window. Slowly, but surely, the vase began to tremble.

Siarya watched as the vase rose from the table, lifted by nothing but the air underneath it. There was no string. There was no trick to it. It was floating in the air, right in front of her, and undeniably so.

"Oh my Gods." Siarya murmured as she stared at the levitating vase. But the moment the words left her lips, Eriana shuddered as if in shock and the vase dropped to the table, which rolled onto its side and crashed into the ground.

Eriana was covering her face now, but Siarya wanted an explanation. _Needed_ one. How long had she been able to do that? How long had she been hiding it from her? Did anyone else know? Could she control it?

"_Eri…"_ Siarya spoke softly. "That was… that was _magic!"_

"I know." Eriana whimpered miserably.

"I mean, that was actual magic! How long have you been able to _do_ that?"

Eriana hugged herself then. Her face was full of embarrassment, but Siarya didn't know why. "Since forever. I don't know. I don't care."

"So all the things flying off the shelves… that was you?" Siarya asked.

"It just happened, okay?" Eriana answered defensively. "I just—she made me so angry, and when my emotions run high, it gets harder to control my powers. I thought that I could hide them well enough, because that's what I've always done. But I wasn't thinking, and it happened so quickly—I just, I don't know what was wrong with me. I don't _know."_

Siarya fell to silence. She didn't know what to say. Eriana, having magic? Where could she have gotten that from? Magic was not common. In fact, the only creatures that used magic were Fairies and Witches, and the Fae didn't even live in Sephoria. They lived far away on some secret island or something—Siarya didn't really know a lot about it.

But Witches, although more rare than the Fae, did live in Sephoria. There weren't a lot of them out there, and most of them were fairly average. But there was a Sisterhood of Witches—the legendary four sisters that could bring a Kingdom to its knees if they cared enough—who lived somewhere in Sephoria. Siarya had never seen them, nor had she really heard of them around the Hollow, but she knew they were powerful. She also knew that her parents, and her mother particularly, were terrified of them.

The Queen had actually tried to banish Witches from Sephoria, but failed miserably. One does not assume they could tell a Witch what to do, and get away with it, Siarya figured. But alas, after some kind of persuasion or deal, something was made out so that the Witches decided they wouldn't step foot in Eloraia, the Sephorian capital and the home of the Hollow. How her mother had done such a thing was unknown to Siarya, but she assumed it had something to do with how her mother could manipulate her words with charm and sharp wit.

So it was safe to say that it was normal to be frightened of magic. But if anyone found out about Eriana having such powers? It could be a catastrophe. No, it could be _dangerous. _

The Queen had exiled Witches because she had been afraid of their power. What would she do to Eriana? Would Eriana be considered a Witch?

_Was she a Witch? _Siarya wondered suddenly. _Is my sister part-creature? _

"Mother can't know." Siarya said immediately. It shook Eriana from her apparent shame, causing her to look up in surprise.

"You don't think I know that?" Eriana asked angrily. "You don't think I haven't thought about—about what she'd _do_ to me if she found out?"

"I don't think she'd do anything bad," Siarya added for comfort. "But we should still be careful. You're only ten, Eri, and you're the Princess. Nothing terrible will happen to you. The worst that would happen is that you would be hidden from the Kingdom. Or, at least, your powers would be."

Eriana looked at her hands solemnly and then pulled them to her chest. "I am a disgrace."

Siarya blinked, and then with a wave of rage, she placed her hand upon Eriana's shoulder assuredly. "You are not a disgrace, you hear me? You may have magic, but that doesn't mean you're a Witch. That doesn't mean you're not my sister."

"Sia, I don't even know what I _am_," Eriana confessed, her wide eyes pleading. "You know what happens to Witches when they're found out? People are _scared _of them."

"You're not a Witch."

"Then what am I?" Eriana inquired in indignation.

"You're my sister," Siarya supplied. "And maybe I've never met a Witch before, but I think if I did, it'd be obvious you aren't like any of them."

"How could you know?"

"Because Witches are supposed to be evil. They're supposed to be coldhearted and cruel. They play tricks and curse people and turn others into frogs. They're a dark storm not to be reckoned with, and that just isn't you," Siarya answered. A light smile began to grace her lips. "Eri, you're sweet. You've always been kind, and you have a lot of potential to be something great. You've always been my friend, and I'm not going to let a bit of magic get in between us. I know you, Eri, and I know that you are not a Witch."

"If I'm not a Witch, and I'm obviously not a Fairy, then what am I?" Eriana asked. Fear began to cloud her eyes. "What if I'm… What if I'm something else?"

"I think you're just normal," Siarya replied honestly. "You're just like everybody else, but with magic."

"And if I'm not?"

"Then we'll deal with it together."

Eriana looked at Siarya darkly. "And you promise to tell anybody?"

"My lips are sealed."

"Promise?" Eriana held out her little finger expectantly.

"I promise," Siarya hooked her own little finger with Eriana's in a tight clasp. Together, at the same time, they spoke with a growing smile. "A secret's a secret, my word is forever— I will tell no one about your cruel endeavor."

They both fell into a giggling, excited fit. Hands clasped, their heads knocked together gently as they basked in their own warmth beginning to flow between them. Siarya could remember the first time they made that pact—and the memory came spiraling back to her like a dream.

"_Eri!"_

_Eriana was balancing on the tips of her feet on one of the highest tree branches of a cherry tree, the pink blooms leaving little petals on the blue silk of her dress. She was watching servant children flying in the starry sky, laughing and tugging at each other as they played. It was before flying was seen as wrong—before rules kept them trapped._

"_Eri!" Siarya called out. _

_Eriana lifted her head. Her cheeks were blushing sweetly as she grinned at the sight of her sister. She sat there as Siarya spotted her, and flew towards her with a look of amusement. "Eri, why didn't you answer me?" _

_She shrugged, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. That was a habit of hers—she always liked her hair behind her ears. She was picking at a flower and blowing the petals in the wind, watching them twirl in circles before they disappeared. _

_Siarya looked up into the sky where dozens of children played together, their small white wings glowing pleasantly against the clouds. "I thought you finished branching two months ago. Why don't you go and play with the other kids?"_

_Eriana shrugged again, remaining silent. She seemed a little sad, and Siarya didn't like that. Her little wings were tucked behind her, twitching restlessly. She obviously really wanted to fly, so why wasn't she? _

"_I'm sure they will love you," Siarya nudged her with a smile. Eriana grinned, but didn't move. "I bet they're wishing you were with them."_

_Her smile went away. A soft, pleasant breeze brushed past them that made their blonde hair dance in the wind. "No, they aren't."_

_Siarya raised her eyebrows. "Why would you ever say that?"_

_She plucked another cherry blossom. "They think I'm different."_

"_What's wrong with different?" Siarya began to pick the soft cherry blossoms from the tree and carefully placed them in Eriana's straight hair. Her big brown eyes were shining at her touch, and she snuggled closer. Siarya felt a stab of pride from it, bright and glowing. _

"_I don't think they like me very much," Eriana admitted as a white butterfly fluttered past them, stopping at a flower momentarily before disappearing elsewhere. "They say that I'm spoiled and annoying because of what I wear. One of the boys called me a snob because I spoke fancy."_

_Siarya bristled at the thought of this, her wings spiking out slightly in agitation. Spoiled? Annoying? It was not possible. Their family had always been perfect, and Eriana was the most amazing of them all. "Eri, I'm going to tell you something."_

_Eriana looked up at her quietly, her golden eyelashes brushing her skin. She waited expectantly. _

_Siarya pulled her closer, resting her chin on the top of Eriana's little head. "You are perfect. Don't let anyone ever tell you differently, okay? You're smart, and funny, and so very beautiful. But some people won't see that sometimes, and they're going to get the wrong impression about you."_

"_Why?" She asked. _

"_I don't know why," Siarya replied truthfully. She would never know why someone could dislike their family. "But it just happens."_

"_What do I do?"_

_Siarya pressed a kiss to her head. "You show them wrong."_

"_How?"_

"_Well," Siarya laughed. "One day, to be specific, those kids are going to grow up. Some of them are going to boys, and they're going to look at you and their jaws are going to drop, because you'll be the most beautiful girl they'd ever laid their eyes on," she explained with a sly grin. She poked Eriana in the ribs, and she squirmed. "And then they're going to walk up to you, all nervous, hands sweating, hearts' racing—and they're going to ask you to dance."_

"_Ewww!" Eriana squealed. _

"_And what are you going to do?" Siarya asked mischievously. _

"_I don't know."_

"_You don't know?!" Siarya scoffed. "Yes you do!"_

_Eriana blushed and wiggled her body. "What am I gonna do?" _

"_You're going to say no!"_

_They giggled together at the thought. Eriana's wings rose up, twitching at the wind brushing through her golden feathers, and she threw her hands up. "NO!"_

"_There we go!" Siarya cheered. _

_After that, they spent the rest of the evening pressed together in warmth under the starlight, wings brushing against each other in a familiar fashion. They whispered stories to each other and talked about the way the mountains looked, and about what lands lay beyond the seas. _

"_What stars are those?" Eriana asked, pointing towards the sky. _

_Siarya peered up to catch the glimmer of clustered stars. She bit her lip in concentration. "I heard those stars are where the Fairies are."_

_Eriana gasped. "Fairies?" _

"_Yes, Fairies." _

_There was a short silence after, and Siarya could swear she could hear Eriana breathing. She was gazing up at those particular stars in awe, as if they were the most beautiful lights in the whole world. She turned to Siarya and tugged at her soft hair with a begging expression. "Sia, can we go to the Fairies one day?"_

_Siarya blinked and pulled Eriana closer. The heat of her body felt nice and comforting, like home. It turned her brain into mush, and so the words fell out without thinking. "Of course, Eri."_

_Eriana jumped up to face her with a wide, excited grin. "Really?"_

"_Yeah," Siarya smiled back at her. "I'll take you to the Fairies."_

"_You promise?"_

"_Of course I do."_

_Eriana held out her pinky finger. "Let's make it a secret, okay?"_

"_A secret?" Siarya's brows rose up in surprise. "Why?" _

"_Because secret promises are fun!" She replied brightly. She nudged Siarya with her pinky finger again. "Come on, Sia."_

"_Alright, alright…" Siarya hooked her finger with Eriana's little one. "A secret's a secret."_

"_And you promise not to tell anyone?"_

"_I promise. My word is forever, and I—"Siarya stopped, suddenly thinking of a rhyme. "And I… I will tell no one about your cruel endeavor."_

_Eriana frowned and scrunched up her nose. "What is that?"_

"_I read it in a book once. I thought it sounded mysterious."_

_She pulled her finger away. "I don't like it."_

"_I do," Siarya protested. "And I'm older, so I get to decide what we say." _

"_That's not fair!"_

"_It's fair when I'm the one who's going to take you to the Fairies." Siarya replied smugly. _

"_Fine," Eriana pouted. "We'll do your stupid endeav—endeavorrr thing."_

"_It's endeavor, Eri." _

"_Whatever."_

"_No, you've got to say it right."_

"_No I don't."_

"_Yes you do."_

"_No I don't!"_

Siarya shook her head, the memory beginning to wash away. That was a long time ago, back when they still used their wings. Back when things were normal, and the thought of killer Drovanians didn't strike fear into their hearts. It was when the skies had been their playground.

Siarya glanced at the mess, still on the floor. They'd have to clean it up quickly if they didn't want to find themselves in the spotlight of the Governess's unfair rage. "We have some work to do."

Eriana followed Siarya's gaze, and then sighed at the debris. "It'll take too long. She'll be back before then."

"What do you suppose we do?"

Eriana bit her lip softly, thinking. She glanced at the window, and then at the broken mess. Then towards the door, where the Governess would be coming through very soon.

"I have an idea."

Siarya watched her strangely. "It's a bad idea. I can tell by the look on your face."

"Oh please," Eriana rolled her eyes before lifting her hand towards the window. The window's glass doors flew open, as if a gust of wind had knocked them back, but Siarya knew well enough now that it wasn't anything natural that pushed them open. "Have some faith in me."

Eying her suspiciously, Siarya sat back as Eriana transitioned her palm to the debris on the floor. Slowly, the pieces began to shiver—almost like the ground was shaking, but the floor under Siarya's feet remained still, so she knew that wasn't the case. After a few moments, the shards lifted from the ground and into the air.

Siarya looked at the levitating mess, and then at the window. She then gaped at her sister. "Eri, _no."_

Eriana grinned cheekily. "_What?"_

"You can't just throw stuff out the window."

"Why not?"

"What if it lands on someone?" Siarya asked.

Eriana rolled her eyes in half-hearted defeat. "Well, where else are we going to stash it?"

Siarya looked around the nest. Her eyes fell upon the curtains, but she thought against it. They could easily be moved. There were the spots under the tables, but that wouldn't be clever enough. Leaving the mess under the rug would be too noticeable.

They needed a place where it'd be worth being found.

With that thought, Siarya spotted their Governess's writing desk.

"The drawers," Siarya said without hesitation. "Put the stuff in her drawers."

"Really?" Eriana asked excitedly. "What if she finds out before we leave?"

Siarya merely grinned at her. "The suspense is what makes it fun."

They exchanged mischievous looks before Eriana had the mess float towards the writing desk, like enlarged dust particles floating in a stream of light. Eriana curled her finger, and one of the drawers slid open.

Then her entire hand coiled into a fist, and with that gesture the shards fell quickly into the drawer with a puff of dust.

Eriana and Siarya giggled to each other, and closed the drawer. The floor was now spotless, as if all the traces of dirt had been picked up along with the debris.

"She's going to kill us." Eriana laughed. Siarya, now realizing they had more time than originally thought, approached the Governess's desk to look at the papers sitting abandoned. There were a few letters, and something about Drovania which caught her eye, but she moved on as quickly as it had come.

"I don't know. Hopefully it'll make that big fat cow shriek like a hog."

Seeing one of the many architectural drawings on the desk, Siarya remembered the conversation back in the Dancing Nest with her Aunt and Sabeline about learning the arts. Truthfully, painting, drawing, and even pottery seemed to intrigue her. Of course, mother would never allow it. They weren't even qualified to learn the basics of music.

"Sia, look—"Eriana picked up the ink. "Are you thinking what _I'm_ thinking?"

"Ha." Siarya grinned darkly, taking the ink and opening the top with a slight _pop. _A smudge of black ink touched her fingers, which she quickly rubbed against the hem of her gown. Cautiously, she carefully tipped the ink bottle and poured a decent amount of ink onto the chair, blending into the dark wood.

"But that's not enough…" Eriana surveyed the nest urgently. "She'll write to someone to punish us."

Siarya quickly grabbed the quills on her desk and spotted a candle on the other side of the nest. The fire had been blown out recently, but the wax still remained wet. She dipped the quill into the wax, creating a thick layer of white onto the tip that was barely noticeable. "She'll be baffled when all of her quills are covered in wax. It'll save us for just enough time."

Eriana giggled, crossing her arms. "I sure do wish we could do more."

Siarya rubbed her palms against her gown. "If we do more, mother will have a fit."

"Don't forget Marie."

Siarya laughed. "Oh, Marie…"

Voices erupted from the hallway, and the sisters exchanged looks and quickly lunged for their seats. "We are going to be in so much trouble—!" Eriana whispered.

"We are only in trouble if we get caught." Siarya hissed in reply.

The Governess burst into the nest appearing flustered and red-faced as they began sewing. Luckily she did not seem to remember to check their progress on their embroidery.

"Damn children, always getting lost…" She uttered furiously as she pushed herself to the desk.

Her large body plopped onto the seat and she took a breath of relaxation. Siarya and Eriana could hardly control their laughter.

~.~

Nobody noticed the large black spot on the Governess's fat bottom before Siarya and Eriana were released except a manservant or two, who could hardly retain their startled amusement. It really looked as though she had shat herself, and it didn't help much that her entire butt tended to jiggle when she walked—especially when she claimed that her manner of walking was considered _elegant._

Siarya was now free to do her bidding; there was always an hour or so to be alone after a lesson because of council meetings and business for others to attend to during that time.

Although she wanted to see Niera, she walked into one of the Hollow's gardens in dismay. It was winter now, she noticed, as the trees no longer held their abundance of lush, and frost lightly covered the grass and decaying blooms. There was no longer the sweet scent of flowery goodness in the air, or any warmth or gentleness in the harsh chill. Despite the absence of wind due to the tall and imperial stone walls, the bite of the cold was just as unmerciful.

She thought about Eriana. A sense of concern fell over her at the thought of people finding out about Eriana's powers—it was best to assume that she would be treated like a patient with a medical problem. Siarya had warned her that if her magic was revealed, people would most likely force her to hide it.

But what Siarya was afraid of was worse. If people found out about Eriana's magic, she could be locked up from society. Not only that, but she could be used as an advantage in the war against Drovanians. Before the Sisterhood of Witches had been banished—or they had "left"—from Eloraia, they had been useful to use against the Drovanians. Their magic was powerful, and the reason they didn't bring Drovania to its knees was because they didn't like being told what to do. They let Drovanians live out of spite towards the Sephorians.

Witches always did what they wanted. They were selfish and cruel, and without mercy.

She hadn't told Eriana this—she didn't want her to know just yet. Eriana was still young, and the stress could be too much.

"My dear, what are you doing outside when it's this cold?" The Queen appeared at the columned doorway, dressed as though she was the Queen of ice herself. The sound of her voice made Siarya jump, jumbling her thoughts of magic and war. "You'll catch a chill."

"Mother…" Siarya pricked a miniature frozen bloom from a cherry blossom tree, causing the branch to shudder as though it was, too, affected by the temperature. Her hand was shaking, and she let it drop to her side. "Was there no meeting today?"

"No, not today," her mother smiled, walking forward. Her gown swayed with her like a flower in the wind. "It had been rescheduled to tomorrow."

"Oh." Siarya replied blankly.

Her mother laid a warm hand on Siarya's shoulder, and a nurturing flow of affection reached out. "Are you well?"

"Just tired, mother." She lied. It wasn't fatigue that was plaguing her, but fear. She'd have to protect Eriana if the secret got out. It would be a possibility that no one else would.

The Queen began to stroke Siarya's hair tenderly, and somehow the soft touch made Siarya's nerves lessen. "I know, darling. Have you any rest?"

"I'm fine."

Her mother took her hand gingerly, pulling her inside. "I think I have some time. We can go somewhere warm and talk. Does that seem alright?"

Siarya was a bit reluctant to be pulled inside, but her mother's grip was tight on her hand. She felt stiff and awkward as she spoke, "You don't have any duties to attend to?"

"Not at the moment." The Queen replied, and Siarya bit back a sigh.

They walked down the corridor that led to the keep, where multiple parlors were scattered. Siarya studied her mother for a moment; garbed in a long, glistening gown of silver and aquamarine, with cascading fair hair and piercing gray eyes. She walked with a graceful, elegant pace that Siarya could hardly match. Due to Siarya's height, she had always appeared like a child next to her mother.

Despite the Queen's warmth, she surely did appear identical to the definition of winter.

"I've been worried about you, Siarya." She spoke calmly as they walked.

Siarya perked up at the words. "Why?"

"I feel as though I was rather harsh with you, Siarya. About your behavior…" The Queen frowned. "I just wish that you know that you are very much loved, and that you are a fine daughter to have. I am proud of you, always."

Siarya was touched with emotion, and she could feel her corset tighten as she drew a breath. She wasn't sure what to say; she wasn't good with words. "Thank you, I guess."

Two manservants opened a door to the left, which they both entered with the Queen's hand on Siarya's shoulder. The nest was rich with maroons and dark woods, decorated with a few settees and many paintings with golden frames. A vase of perfect roses sat in the corner, oblivious to the outside chill.

"Becoming a lady will give you many privileges, along with many duties. It shall be difficult, and I only wish the best for you," Her mother frowned sadly. "It would trouble me if you were unhappy."

"I'm not," Siarya insisted quickly. It was easier to lie than to tell the truth. Technically, there should be no reason for her own unhappiness; she lived a great life. "Truly."

The Queen poured tea from a pot into a porcelain teacup. "That is better."

She handed the tea to Siarya, who took it awkwardly. Her mother has never been so sociable. "Is something happening, mother?"

The Queen glanced up apprehensively. "No, dear."

Siarya lifted the tea to her mouth, taking in the sweet liquid. Siarya noticed a bitter aftertaste. "What kind of tea is this? It tastes… Strange."

"It's a new kind; it was a gift from the foreign guests," she replied softly. She set down her own teacup which she hadn't bothered to drink out of as she studied Siarya thoughtfully.

Scrunching up her nose, Siarya tasted the tea again. There was definitely something off about the taste. "Are you sure this tea is okay?"

"Positive."

She eyed her mother's tea sitting on the table. "Why don't you try it? It can't be just my cup."

"Not thirsty," she replied with a quick flash of a crimson smile. She settled her hands on her lap, her cold gray eyes scanning her form. "You truly are unique, Siarya."

Siarya raised her eyebrow in surprise, setting her own cup onto an end-table. Her heart was starting to race and she didn't know why. "Truly?"

The Queen nodded. "Truly. You possess the qualities of a delightful woman."

She then looked away, almost sadly.

Siarya frowned. "What's wrong?"

With a long sigh, the Queen shook her head just barely. "Nothing. I just…" she looked up, her icy eyes meeting Siarya's. "I want to apologize."

"For what?"

The Queen stared at her silently, and almost longingly, like she knew something Siarya didn't. Instead of answering, she replied with something else. "I love you, Siarya. Do you know that?"

Siarya ran her thumb along the edge of the teacup. "You're my mother. Of course I do."

Her mother swallowed visibly, and Siarya realized that she was becoming emotional. It came as a shock, as Siarya hardly ever saw her mother become so open. "Times are changing, Siarya. There are many enemies coming in the wind, and I need to make sure that you're going to be safe. You have no idea what I have done to protect our family, and to keep our Kingdom from falling into ruin," she gritted her jaw, her eyes fluttering shut as if in shame. "Sixteen years can do things to a woman, where being a Queen requires a stone heart capable of being hammered by the most immoral of decisions. And I find that my own heart has been fractured by you."

Confused and worried, Siarya slowly set her teacup on the table with an unpleasant _crack_. "What are you saying?"

The Queen looked up to meet her eyes once again. "How do you feel about the prospect of marriage?"

Siarya froze.

Her mind went blank.

The Queen, noticing her reaction, pursed her lips. "Siarya…"

"—Who?" Siarya interrupted harshly.

"Pardon..?"

"Who is it?"

The fire crackling filled in the dark silence as Siarya's blood ran cold. The pause was too long, and too thick; she wanted sit up and fly as far as possible-away from her mother-and away from these thoughts of anguish.

The Queen tilted her head intently. "No one yet."

Siarya clenched the arm of the settee with an iron grip. "How long?"

"The sooner the better."

Siarya shuddered, feeling speechless. "But…"

"Having a husband will guarantee you the kind of safety that I cannot," the Queen persisted quietly. "I want to leave behind someone who will protect you when I'm not there. With a plan in mind, this is… better for you. Please, Siarya, agree to this. _Let_ me help you."

Siarya swallowed. "Mother, you're scaring me."

"Siarya, you must agree to this. I _need _you to."

"I…" Siarya looked down in her lap. "What if he's bad?"

The Queen stroked Siarya's hair, kissing her forehead gently. "No daughter of mine shall be caught in the clutches of an underserving man."

Siarya took a breath, leaning towards her mother. "Promise?"

Her mother held Siarya in her arms as if she was a child, but she could still feel her heart pounding against her chest as if her bloodstream were fighting off a curse. "I promise."


	7. Blood for Rain

**Chapter Six**

**Blood for Rain**

When the shelter of night arrived, men clad in armor of the strongest silver trekked along the great walls that held back the darkness of the Drovanians, shields in hand and weapons slung into their belts, their brilliant white wings twitching with anticipation. The canyon that cut between Sephoria and Drovania was immense and seemingly endless, like an axe had been plunged into the planet, cracking open the ancient ground. There was only one way to cross it; a bridge.

There was only one bridge, and it was unbreakable, protected with magic even beyond a witch's knowledge. No one ever crossed it unless to initiate another battle on the war-tarnished lands of both Kingdoms, and no one ever wanted to.

The night was silent and uneventful as usual as the soldiers walked their rounds, sharp eyes never leaving the horizon. There were men on the ground that guarded the walls and the outskirts of the canyon, just in case a foolish Drovanian decided to fly into their death.

But then a light flickered, small and seemingly harmless in the dark, like a wisp of a candle's flame. It seemed like nothing until another one appeared, and then a third, and then a fourth— increasing further into a curved line along the top of the wall. The flickering light grew closer until the entire wall was speckling with fire.

It was a sign of a breach.

Soldiers withdrew their swords and archers loaded their crossbows; orders shouted into the air as the wall began to vibrate, and the sky clapped with thunder.

But when the guards took off into the sky, they realized it wasn't thunder.

It was the sound of a thousand wings, all beating against the wind. All black as smoke and full of terror, and coming right at them at the speed of light.

"Get in formation!" Captain William was yelling out instructions, his voice booming across the grounds. He looked in his element; sword drawn, wings arched in a storm of holy fire. There was vengeful wrath gleaming from his eyes in waves as he powerfully pushed himself into the air. "This is not a drill! I repeat—this is _not a drill!"_

Hundreds of men took to the sky like a thousand bright stars raining down onto the battlefield, this formation of white light slamming against the black mass of evil like a wave crashing across the rocks. Metal clashed against metal as shrill screams and wet sounds of bloody slicing tore through the air. Blood drizzled onto the forest of pine below, painting the green a dark dripping red.

It all happened at once. The enemies dipped against the warriors, breaking into them and splitting open a crack through their army. They were outnumbered, and the Drovanians worked them through until they poured out, hurtling past the walls and into Sephoria.

Bodies fell to the ground like comets, wings burning out into embers as the body crashed into the field.

Captain William saw this and flew out of the central battle, his eyes scanning skillfully over the orchestra of death. He saw a flash of white hair, and a spray of vivid blood as the warrior slashed at their enemy. His heart thudded in his chest as he moved towards that warrior, his weapon drawn.

The warrior was taking on four Drovanians at once; she killed two of them before he could make it to her, but the other two were advancing with speed that could challenge a snake.

With a roar, William slammed his sword against one of the Drovanians, catching them by surprise. The Sephorian warrior took on the other one, and both were killed almost instantaneously.

Before the warrior could move away to her next fight, William caught her arm. "Niera!"

She pulled away from him, her glorious wings flapping furiously against the hurricane of battle around them. Her stormy eyes were alight with a steel fire that burned into the skin. Blood speckled and stained the pale complexion of her face, but it wasn't her own. Her silver hair stuck to her skin from sweat. "Will, we need back up."

Normally he would've criticized her for saying his name without his title, but he found he didn't care at the moment. He gave her a serious look. "The King needs to be informed of the infiltration."

Niera let out a cry as she fought the mighty force of a blow as she blocked a giant hammer with her shield. She pushed her attacker back and with a flash of her sword, chopped off the Drovanian's head. The body fell to the ground in a whirl of black smoke. She turned back to William angrily. "And you're telling _me_?"

He plunged his weapon into a Drovanian's torso as they chased after a wounded Sephorian attempting to escape, their wings hardly holding them up. In the corner of his eye, he saw another Drovanian stick a dagger in the weakened Sephorian's throat anyways, and they dropped from sight.

He grabbed Niera's wrist and pulled her close so that she could hear him over the gore of death. "_You_ have to do it."

She gaped at him for a second, their breath mingling together in harsh pants, before pushing into him to avoid a flock of Drovanians hurtling past, their weapons slicing at everything they could touch. "_What?"_

"You're the only one who can make it there alive." He forced out before she could object. This wasn't him underestimating her. This was him trusting her—because, whether he liked it or not, she had more of a fight inside of her than half the men in his army. And he _needed_ her.

Her eyes widened in shock.

"That's an order, Petrova," he snapped, calling her by her last name. It was a direct order. "_Go!"_

That stirred her back into reality, and she nodded with a new look of determination. It was a frightening look for her. With a great flourish of her shimmering wings, she disappeared into the clashing bands of shrieks and blood, towards Eloraia where the stars still shone.

When he turned around, he was taken back with a giant blow to his jaw. It snapped his head backwards to where he lost his balance. Another blow to his chest made his wings falter, and he crashed against the stone wall. He regained his senses immediately with a snarl, kicking off the wall to lunge at his attacker, but the Drovanian expected that and blocked him, throwing him onto the ground in a glowing heap.

The Drovanian landed in front of him calmly, and he heard a chuckle. His armor was black and soaked with red. When William opened his eyes, he saw that the boots in front of him had sharp grooves in them.

He forced himself to stand up to face the Drovanian. The face he saw was not who he expected.

The eldest Prince of Drovania, son of the King and a most infamous killer, peered up and _giggled._ It was a high-pitched, unsettling laugh that sent shivers down his spine. William growled with hatred, "_You."_

The Prince grinned darkly, his eyes glittering with absolute content as bodies continued to rain from the sky. He breathed it in; the scent, the taste, the cold chill of the wind bringing in the hot spray of blood. "Captain."

William roared in fury as he brought his sword upon the Prince, but the Drovanian merely blocked it with his own, their metal screeching against each other as their forces pushed together. "All of Sephoria will know you are here. You will not win."

His grin grew wider. There was blood in his teeth. "_Perfect."_

~.~

The Royal doors flew open with a giant gust of wind, the penetrating night sky contrasting against the pearly white floors and columns that decorated the Great Nest. The King stood there conversing with two advisors, his eyes drooped low with fatigue. The winds that escaped the door made the curtains sway wildly and half the torches blew out, casting sinister shadows throughout the nest.

Niera, still in her bloodied armor, flew into the Great Nest with her sword still in hand. Her voice was loud and thunderous, _"Your Majesty!"_

The King turned in surprise, his tired brown eyes growing from bewilderment to a grim worry. "Templar. What business do you have?"

"The walls near Laire have been taken down by force," she announced. Her brilliant wings were still unfurled as her feet touched the ground. "We have been infiltrated and we don't have the right defense to protect the rest of Sephoria."

"Impossible!" He sputtered, eyes popping open. His hand immediately stroked his mouth, fingertips running smoothly over his thick stubble. "No one can get past the wall. It's been years…"

"Prince Domonic is leading them," Niera said breathlessly. "I suspect his father is there as well."

The King stroked his beard once again from habit, his face marred with a severe frown. He lifted his head. "Put half of the troops around Eloraia immediately. Make sure the Hollow is completely armed and protected—and the other half to surround Laire."

Niera blinked. "Your Majesty?"

"That is an order, Templar."

"But what about the people?" She exclaimed. "They won't survive—the Drovanians will kill them all!"

"Someone helped the Drovanians enter Sephorian lands," the King spat furiously. "Laire is the closest village to the walls. It must be destroyed."

"But—"

"Report back to the Captain, girl. Contact all safe houses and recruit all available soldiers possible."

"The village of Laire had nothing to do with—"

"_Do not defy me!"_ He bellowed. Niera shrunk under his gaze, bowing her head respectfully. She had to squeeze her eyes shut to block out the thoughts swirling in her head; Laire was not the cause of this. Drovanians found a way in because they were smart, not because Sephorians had traitors in their midst. But she didn't say anything.

Her loyalty was to the King, and she forced herself to obey.

"I will do as you say." She spoke quietly. At that, she lifted off from the ground and out the door, back into the sky that was beginning to smell of smoke.

~.~

It was a full two days before Siarya was allowed to wander around the Hollow again. Apparently William's army had driven out the Drovanians for the time being, but there have been whispers of Eloraia lacking protection. How the rumor sprang up, Siarya did not know.

The King had returned with the majority of the army, while the others were apparently dead. How severe the battle was, Siarya was not allowed to know. But it frightened her still. She knew that she was still waiting for Niera's word on the ordeal. It had been many days since they had last talked—Niera had made herself practically invisible. Siarya guessed that she was better at hiding than she had first realized.

Siarya sat at the roots of a large willow tree. It was snowing lightly, although she felt warm in her attire of furs. Although her gown was soaking in the snow, she didn't seem to mind. She was reading a book from the Hollow's library about pottery.

"Siarya."

She looked up, feeling rather startled. Standing a few feet away from her like an intense, powerful fire was Niera. Siarya's heart jolted from surprise, and then from happiness. "Niera!"

Siarya dropped her book carelessly, and stood up to see her best friend. Niera smiled, but it was a weak smile. Siarya noticed with a start that Niera looked gray with fatigue and exhaustion. There was something dragging her down mentally, and she could see it all over her face. Something was terribly wrong.

Niera's blank eyes fell upon the book. There were circles under those eyes, Siarya noticed, along with a collection of yellowing bruises along the side of her face that she didn't see before. A healing cut was on her left eyebrow. "Pottery? I assume you must be bored out of your mind."

Siarya's lips quirked up on the sides. "Just a little bit."

She paused for a moment, and Siarya wondered if she was holding anything back. Niera then unsheathed her sword, the silver of the metal glinting brightly in the cold.

"Niera, you know I can't—"

Niera lifted the sword and brought it down with a swift stab into the snow in front of her. Siarya blinked in confusion as Niera stared at the sword with a hatred she had never recognized before.

They stood there in silence for a few moments, until Niera opened her mouth. "I've killed people, but not like this."

Siarya froze, feeling speechless. She hadn't expected the conversation to change so fast. Niera's eyes were dark and unsettling, as if the night had taken over suddenly. It made the air feel colder than it was, and it wasn't from the winter chill.

"You were ordered to, yes?" Siarya's voice was quiet. Cautious.

Niera clenched her fists, as if concentrating on the sword would make everything disappear.

Siarya placed a hand on Niera's shoulder. The metal felt bitterly frigid against her fingertips. "Whatever happened to you out there… Drovanians are terrible people. You have a right to kill them."

Niera shook Siarya's hand off violently. "They weren't Drovanians."

Siarya furrowed her eyebrows, suddenly feeling more alarmed. She took a step back. "What do you mean they weren't Drovanians?" When she didn't answer, she lunged to grab Niera's shoulder again and Niera fell into her grasp without a fight. Heart skipping, she spoke louder, "Niera, _who _did you kill?"

She looked at Siarya in tribulation. "The region the Drovanians attacked was near a village. The villagers were in our way, so we were told to kill them," Niera's voice broke in misery. "T-They told me to kill them. So I did."

Siarya's heart dropped. The tone of her voice was as if she was a child yearning for a parent's pride. _They told me to kill them. So I did. _

Niera's eyes shined with tears, and Siarya took a step back in horror. "Why would they do that? Why would they…" she trailed off in remorse.

_They're all dead._

"Something is happening," Niera spoke stiffly. "Something is wrong. I came here to warn you."

Something like her mother's words resonated in Siarya's head.

Anger bubbled up inside Siarya like fire. "I can't believe they would… How could we slaughter a village?"

_How could we let this happen?_

"We were told that they worked with the Drovanians, although there was hardly any talk of evidence." Niera replied quietly.

Siarya pulled up her skirts hastily, and began to fiercely force her way through the snow. Fury was bubbling up inside of her, grasping at her heart and pulling breath from her lungs. "I am going to talk to the King."

"No, Siarya—"Niera instantly seized her arm. "You have to hear what I have to say."

Siarya stopped, but only because of the steel grip on her arm. She forced herself to study the urgency in Niera's silver eyes. If she let Niera talk to her, she knew she would lose her spike of bravery to talk to her father. Her head was pounding and she didn't have much adrenaline left, but reluctantly she sighed and nodded. Niera let go of her arm.

Niera inhaled sharply. "This war. It's been ages; you and I both know that, but…"

"But what?"

"It's getting worse," She confessed as an icy wind tickled the air. "The Drovanians managed to infiltrate one of the major armory keeps. They took all of the most technological inventions and weapons they could find. They stripped us bare."

All hope in Siarya suddenly blasted into shreds. "They could come to the Hollow…"

"I'm aware of that." Niera replied blatantly. She was never someone to sweeten severe situations; a normal person would tell Siarya that everything was to be fine, and that everything will go back to how it was—but Niera was consistently direct.

"What do we do?" Siarya asked dryly.

Niera shook her head. "I don't know. There have been rumors that the villagers are planning something; they haven't been working as hard, or something ridiculous like that. The Queen has been with the Council for hours. For now, there's nothing much we _can_ do until a solution is discussed amongst the Council members."

"What of my father?"

"The King?"

"Who else?" Siarya rolled her eyes. "Is he here?"

Niera shuffled her feet. "No, not that I've heard of. Last I knew, he was heading towards some rural country a few days ago, just after the Drovanian infiltration. There has been no word from him. I suppose he didn't want to stick around after Laire."

Siarya clenched her jaw. "I can't believe he's left again. He's the _King_—he can't just leave!"

"The King can do whatever he wants," Niera replied with a wave of her hand, although her face was twisted in agitation as well. "We'll just have to wait and see how things turn out."

"We can't just do _nothing."_

"We _must_," Niera insisted, until Siarya glared at her. "Oh no. I know that look, Siarya, and you're not going to do anything."

"Why not?" Siarya pouted like a child.

"Because no matter how brave you are, you are still the Princess. Therefore there are people out there who would die to slit your throat. Too many, I should add—"

"That's truly comforting, Niera." Siarya murmured.

Niera glared at Siarya. "You're going to be good, do you hear me? You will do what people say in order to stay safe."

Siarya was steaming with fury. "I can't believe this. Sephoria is my _Kingdom,_ Niera! These are my _people!"_

"Your life is in danger, damn you!" Niera snapped harshly. "Forgive me of my selfishness if I seem rather anxious to lose you."

Siarya closed her eyes for a moment, shaking off her anger. "I'm sick of people telling me what to do."

"Yes, I know," Niera spoke candidly. "This is why you're such a nuisance to keep alive. One day you might think it's fascinating to jump off a cliff."

Siarya scowled. "I'm not that moronic."

"No, but you're terribly stubborn," Niera sighed. "I honestly do not know where you get it from."

"I'm not going to do anything, I swear. I will follow orders. I will be _good_," Siarya spat out reluctantly. "And I _won't_ jump off a cliff, for your sake!"

Siarya heard voices coming from the courtyard in front of the kitchens, and suddenly remembered the restriction between Niera and her. "You have to go, Niera."

Niera then noticed the voices as well, and then grimaced in agitation. She narrowed her eyes at Siarya. "I'll be watching you."

Siarya smiled slightly as Niera turned around and disappeared.

But when she disappeared, that smile vanished.

The source of the voices came into view, and Siarya looked to see Eriana and a manservant. They were talking about something before they stopped, eyes settling upon each other. Eriana spoke up, "Sia, I was just about to go looking for you."

"You were?"

"Yes, about the whole sewing thing." Eriana said cautiously, her eyes unblinking and studious.

_Sewing? _Siarya was confused for a moment, before she remembered. Sewing probably stood for magic.

"Oh yes, the sewing thing," Siarya nodded in confirmation, hoping she was correct. "Right…"

"If you could excuse us," Eriana told the manservant, who bowed immediately and scurried off without a word. Eriana turned back to Siarya. "You busy tonight, Sia?"

"Tonight?" Siarya repeated, surprised. "Not really, no. Why?"

"I discovered a secret meeting," Eriana grinned. "And we'll be attending."

"Meeting?" Siarya inquired suspiciously. "What kind of meeting?"

"Okay, look," Eriana said with a puff of breath. "This is more than—"she glanced around, surveying the area. "This is more than my magic. This is about what happened to Laire."

"How do you know about that?"

"I know everything that happens in this Hollow," Eriana rolled her eyes. "But I have some ideas, and I need your help."

Siarya folded her arms. "What's this about?"

"It's just…" Eriana let out a small, frustrated sigh. "I've been thinking a lot lately. About how we've been told that Drovanians are the worst of people, and it's not like that isn't the truth. That is obvious from the beginning, and it's all we've ever known since we were children. It's all Marie ever reminded us about, and I know you told me that they were bad, and I'd rather go to Totorous than to start believing otherwise. But there is something that doesn't make sense, and it's the reason _why_ we're warring."

"They're jealous of us?" Siarya offered.

"That's the thing. They're really not," Eriana interrupted, and Siarya pursed her lips in silence. "Don't you think they would've stolen more from us than they've destroyed if they were jealous? All they do is invade and kill and burn, yet they never really _take _us_._ Personally_, I_ think although we don't really know what's going on, it's pretty clear that things are getting worse."

"You think a lot for an eleven-year old, you know that?" Siarya said quietly, wide-eyed. "You make it hard to be a protective big sister with all of this rebellious inspiration. I didn't even know you thought about these sort of things."

"Of course I thought about it," Eriana replied with a slight glare of damaged pride. "I'm not like Marie, who thinks everything is all perfect rainbows and butterflies. I keep my ears open, just like you. I don't like being taken by surprise when another battle erupts somewhere nearby, usually edging closer to the Hollow every time."

"What?" Siarya's body grew timid. "What do you mean closer?"

"I mean that Drovanians are fighting their way into Eloraia," Eriana swallowed stiffly, her breath rattling against her tongue. "I…I heard it from the kitchens. The servants are talking about it; it's apparently some kind of wild rumor, but I think it's real. People are getting scared. They think that once Drovanians invade, they'll be able to breach the Hollow's walls and kill everyone in sight, including…"

A shudder tickled under Siarya's skin. "Us."

Eriana leaned down and picked up her cloth. "Yeah, us."

A trickle of fury stormed through her mind as she took the information in, letting the words sink into her thoughts. Why would everyone keep this from them? Did Evermarie know? They were Royals—if their lives were in danger, shouldn't they be told? Siarya shook her head restlessly. "I don't understand. Why are they hiding this from us? Why don't they ever tell us anything?"

"Because they're afraid, I think," Eriana answered softly, and the nest suddenly grew dark. "Because there are things that they don't want us to know. Maybe there are secrets associated with this war that would endanger us. Perhaps they think we can't handle the truth."

Siarya's fists clenched tightly. "They can't keep _trapping _us like this or we're all going to die. We won't see a damn thing coming at us."

"Maybe you can fight them off with your swordsmanship." Eriana offered, the tips of her mouth quirking up wryly.

"I'm _serious,_ Eri," Siarya snapped back, but she couldn't help but smile. She reached up and tucked a curled strand of hair behind her ear, the tip of her diamond earring tickling her thumb. She sent Eriana a soft, proud look. "You know… you're a lot smarter than people give you credit for. In fact, you're so smart that I don't think it's fair. How is it that when I was around your age, I was so stupid that I talked to a Drovanian in a creepy forest at night—but when you're an eleven-year old, you're a bloody genius?"

"That's because I'm better than you." Eriana answered smugly.

"Please," Siarya rolled her eyes in amusement. "I'm older than you, aren't I?"

"That's a horrible excuse," Eriana exclaimed. "That just tells me that you had more time to become as amazing as myself, but you still failed."

Siarya opened her mouth to reply, but shut it when she couldn't find the right response. Instead, she hid her face and ignored the embarrassing fluttering in her stomach. "I should smack you."

Eriana laughed. "No, you love me too much."

"Sure I do," Siarya said sarcastically. Then she thought about the conversation before, and a question came to mind. "How do you know so much about everything, anyways?"

"I get bored around the Hollow when you're off doing what you're doing," Eriana explained. "I find that I have to… entertain myself."

Siarya suddenly felt suspicious. "By doing what?"

Eriana blushed, her cheeks turning even pinker. "The maids like to talk. If you stay hidden in dark corners, behind doors, under tables, chairs, and a bunch of other places where the floor boards don't creak, you can find that you can overhear a lot of stuff that people say. I guess I can say that I am the eyes and ears of this Hollow."

"Oh, really?" Siarya crossed her arms. "So you like to eavesdrop, huh?"

Eriana smirked mischievously. "One of the maids who works in the kitchens is pregnant, but it's not her husband's baby. It's the stable boy's. Except the stable boy is already betrothed to a blacksmith's daughter, who apparently is very crude—"

"No need for evidence," Siarya said quickly with a huff of laughter. "Just tell me what kind of meeting you were talking about."

"Well, there's this place that the villagers like to meet," Eriana explained. A rush of dread filled Siarya at her words, but Eriana quickly continued. "It's called the Winged Tavern. I guess they treat it like some village council area. I've never been to one of them, but we could check it out—see if they talk about anything important."

"Outside the Hollow?" Siarya frowned. "Are you sure? I mean, we've never left the Hollow since..."

"I know…" Eriana whispered. "But what else could we do? Do you really want to sit here and do nothing? Sia, it's _outside_. It's all freedom and mystery and adventure!" She sat up in excitement, brown eyes shining. "Don't you want to fly again? Feel the wind through your feathers, just like we used to?"

Siarya looked to the side, watching as a trace of wind from the windows played with the translucent curtains in the corner. Her head felt heavy. She couldn't tell if walking outside of the Hollow would be a sacrifice for knowledge, or a naïve child's dream. What would a hero do, if given the chance? Was this something they were supposed to do? Was there really information they had to know that could only be understood outside their walls of safety?

"This is more than us…" Siarya said slowly. The words in her head lulled to a clockwork pattern as her brain rolled through things to say. "This is war, with all its desperation and violence, thrown from the minds of the people who learn to survive through it every day. If we have to deal with that ourselves, too, then fine—so be it. I'm tired of waiting around."

"Then it's decided," Eriana concluded. "Give me time, and I'll figure out when the meeting is. It shouldn't be too hard. I'll find a way to inform you without causing any suspicions—we can't have anyone knowing about this, not even Marie. They'd lock us up and stitch our mouths shut before they let us become any part of this."

Siarya immediately thought of Niera. She would be furious if she left the Hollow after the destruction of Laire. She would be furious to find that Siarya was risking her life, along with Eriana's, even for a reason like this.

But fear was not an excuse. There was no way she was going to let this get in the way of what she wanted—what she had to do. They'd just have to be smart outside the Hollow, and not get caught.

"Okay," Siarya breathed out. She wrapped her arms around herself because of the chill, but she couldn't help but feel the nerves rattling through her veins. "We'll have to be careful. Nobody can see us leaving, which means we can't leave through the front entrance. Once we get outside, we're going to have to keep our identity a secret—especially after what has happened to Laire."

"Meet me by the underground wine cellars by midnight then, and bring a cloak. Don't be late," Eriana moved to leave, but then paused. "And Sia?"

"Hmm?"

Eriana grinned. "A secret's a secret."

Siarya, catching on, smiled as well as she recited the mantra they knew by heart. "My word is forever— I will tell no one about your cruel endeavor."

They nodded to each other then, and Eriana pointed at her. "If you don't come—"

"I'll be there." Siarya answered indefinitely. Eriana nodded again and then stomped off, her figure disappearing into the shadows.


	8. Black Wings

**Chapter Seven**

**Black Wings**

Night quickly caught Sephoria in its clutches, cold and mysterious. Stars shone down on the snow-covered lands and sparkling Hollow, oblivious to the recent events.

Siarya scurried down one of the dark corridors leading to the wine cellars. Deep in the ground, there was a secret door behind the wine that nobody but Eriana seemed to find. Eriana had told her about it and how it led to the outside world, but apparently she had never felt the nerve to attempt it.

They had no weapons, but they both decided that if they kept their faces hidden, they was sure that no harm would come to them.

Using a lantern to light the way, Eriana pushed a few wine barrels out of the way, revealing a moth-eaten curtain. Pulling it to the side swiftly, dust rained down like brown snow, causing Siarya and Eriana to cough in disgust.

"You found this all on your own?" Siarya asked, eying the exit warily.

"Nobody else but me." Eriana answered. The door was a thick, intricate slab of copper metal. It appeared rusted in some areas, but otherwise quite usable. Finding the handle, Eriana forced the door open with a droning sound of suction. A sudden cold air blasted their faces, but the passageway remained dark and silent. As Eriana raised her lantern, they noticed rock walls and uneven stone flooring. It seemed to be a tunnel of some sort.

Glancing back at the cellar, Siarya felt her heart begin to race. Thoughts rushed into her mind of severe consequences and punishments; but then remembered what she had thought before.

_You're only in trouble if you get caught._

Taking in a shaky breath, she stepped into the tunnel, closely following Eriana who stepped inside without hesitation. She jumped as the door slammed shut behind her, leaving her in the thick darkness except for the dim light of the oil lantern. Eriana smirked. "You alright there, sister?"

Siarya scowled. "This place is weird, Eri. It probably has rats."

"Don't be such an infant," Eriana replied with a roll of her eyes. "Come on, it's this way."

Siarya swallowed dryly. She didn't think of how much oil was needed for the entire night, and she wasn't sure if Eriana had thought of it either. Hastily picking up their skirts, they scurried down the passageway, avoiding the deep crevices in the ground. Every footstep, every breath, or little noise they made echoed, causing Siarya to consistently wonder if someone was behind her.

If anybody was following them—a guard, suspicious after seeing them walking around at night—they'd be doomed. Siarya knew that.

But of course, they were alone. At least, as far as Siarya knew.

As they walked, Siarya thought of a plan that would be most logical and simple to accomplish. She wasn't sure how long they would have to walk until they were out of the Hollow, but she was certain they wouldn't stay out for more than a few hours. If anyone caught them… Siarya shuddered.

The oil lantern began to flicker, causing the shadows on the walls to dance menacingly. As shivers tumbled down her spine, she spotted a light at the end of the tunnel. A small, moving flame. A lamppost.

Siarya's eyes widened. A lamppost would mean a street, and a street would mean a village. _Outside._

When they reached the lamppost, Siarya realized that it was behind stacks of boxes and slabs of rock. Eriana huffed and pushed past the dusty rubble, but doing so caused the lantern in her hand hit an object and the glass broke, causing the oil to spill and the light to extinguish.

Siarya stared at what was left of the lantern in shock, and then in agonizing worry. Without light, they couldn't find their way back. "Eri, what—"

"I'm sorry!" Eriana exclaimed with a panicked look. "I didn't mean to!"

Siarya took a deep breath, brushing off her agitation. "Perhaps before it's time to return to the Hollow we can find a candle or something. A torch, maybe."

"You think?"

"Yeah," Siarya said easily, but she wasn't so sure herself. "We'll be fine."

As Siarya inspected the surroundings around her, she realized that they were in some kind of narrow alleyway. Hidden, dark, and mysterious—except for the dim lamppost. No wonder how nobody seemed to find the entrance way to the Hollow, she thought candidly.

Strands of Eriana's hair began to fall out repeatedly from her hooded cloak. Siarya, noticing this, turned to her sister and stuffed the strands back. Eriana stood and let her. "Keep your hair hidden, alright?"

Eriana nodded. Looking around, they saw to their right was an obvious dead end, so together they decided to move left and find a main street.

They were to keep out of the way and stay in the dark. There were bad people out here, Siarya knew very well—Eriana didn't look particularly nervous, but Siarya couldn't help but worry a little. As part of her hand escaped her cloak, she felt something icy and wet touch her skin. Looking at it, she noticed that it was water.

Rain began to moisten the air and soak the snow-covered streets. As they made their way to the end of the alleyway, she saw the village for her own eyes for the first time.

Cottages of bricks and stone stacked next to each other with tall, sloped roofs. They appeared cozy, with the lights of a fireplace or lantern shining through the windows or cracks. The cobblestone streets appeared worn and rather broken, and in some areas trash littered the ground. But the tall structures of the village citadels, mills, and buildings stood out against the star-speckled half-clouded dark sapphire sky like powerful art.

The streets, however, remained empty as the bare merchant stands. Not a sound whispered through the night except the faint hum of voices somewhere far off in the distance.

Siarya, noticing Eriana's hair falling out of her hood again, stuffed it back in with annoyance. It would have been easier to retrieve something to tie her hair back with, but unfortunately she had been too busy finding other necessities. She didn't bother to catch Eriana's scowl this time.

Rain softly wetted their cloaks, and Siarya could see mud soiling her skirts. She was sure that her maids would notice later on, but she didn't mind. Siarya was engulfed in the mysteries around her; she was walking in a different land, almost a different world. Looking behind her, she could see the magnificent shining Hollow she grew to bore of; a rat scurrying in the street seemed more fascinating than anything up there at the moment.

Two men suddenly burst through the doors of a building, laughing noisily. Siarya, startled, immediately pressed her arm against Eriana in defense and shrunk back into the darkness.

The men, drunk and dizzy, instantly caught her interest. They wore clothes she never really saw before; they wore nothing similar to being grand and expensive. Their clothes actually appeared rather plain and foreign to her. What surprised her the most, however, were their wings—bright and glowing in the night, flapping irregularly as the men stumbled about. They were ruffled and dirty, like they hadn't been groomed for a while. But that was just proof that they had been _used_—such beautiful white wings were disheveled and tangled in dirt because the men had been out flying.

"Wow," Eriana breathed.

"I know," Siarya replied, staring at their wings in awe. "It's weird to see wings that aren't hidden."

"It's kind of unnerving, actually," Eriana said as she tipped her head to the side. "I mean, they're just _out there."_

"Yeah…" Siarya felt solemn suddenly. "I know."

The men did not see them and the girls waited silently as they moved along, quickly disappearing into the night. Breathing lightly, they began to sprint quietly among the streets. Part of Siarya just desired to wander around and explore, yet she knew their mission, as Eriana had called it. They had to find people, and they had to find out about everything being hidden from them.

As they snuck around a corner, Siarya noticed movement in a building far off in the street. She could hear music and voices, along with huge roars of manly laughter. Walking closer, she could read the large wooden sign sticking out of the stone building.

**The Winged Cavern**

"Found it." Eriana whispered, a ghost of a smile tracing her face. Her eyes were alive with excitement.

The sign had an immense crack in the wood making it look as though it was almost split in the middle. Golden lights shone through the windows, and Siarya could see dancing shadows on the walls. Knowing the fact that anyone could bust through the doors at any second, she placed herself under the window where it was dark. Eriana followed quickly.

She could hear chairs scraping against the wooden flooring, and the scent of baking and wine wafted through the air from where the window was cracked slightly.

"My wife, Mira, makes the best pies," a deep, gruff voice was speaking in the midst of the music and multiple conversations. "She could feed an army of Scavengers!"

_Scavengers, _Siarya thought sourly. Eriana and Siarya exchanged bitter looks. They were dead creatures that moved to the places of chaos and blood spill. Usually after a battle, one can see them flock around the dead, eating what's left of the bodies. She had never personally seen one, but apparently they were like feathered wolves with a beak for a tongue.

"Are you saying Mira's pies are made of the dead?" A voice replied. "That awfully increases my appetite."

"Ah, boy, you know what I mean."

"They're not talking about anything." Siarya said bluntly.

"Hush," Eriana scolded. "We just got here, didn't we?"

"On time?"  
"It ought to be. If anything, we're here late."

"What if they don't talk about anything at all?" Siarya asked.

Eriana didn't answer. She pursed her lips and pulled the cloak closer to her body, shielding herself from the drizzle of rain, and Siarya reluctantly did the same. Together, they waited in silence except for the slow, foggy downpour of the rain and the voices of the men inside.

"Speaking of scavengers, did you hear about what happened to Laire?" A new, younger voice asked. All of them appeared to be men. "It's crowded with em' now."

Siarya stopped and stiffened, and she could see Eriana's eyes grow wide and vivid. They pressed closer to the foot of the high window, their heads just brushing the sill.

"The village Diego traveled to last month? I heard they have great mining tunnels. Lots of trading there."

"Nothing there anymore." A raspier voice informed them warily.

"What do you mean?"

A few men cursed. "You ought to be knocked in the head. Didn't you hear about the Drovanians?"

"Of course I did," the man defended himself. "I ain't dumb. Whatta 'bout them? As far as I've heard, they stole some pretty important stuff. Weapons or somethin'."

Siarya could hear clanging of dishes and glasses, and for a moment the music played slower. A tall shadow loomed over the window, and Eriana and Siarya backed up against the wall. Eriana let out a soft squeak, which Siarya immediately muffled with her hand. The man at the window then began to speak, oblivious to the fact that they was right under him, inches underneath the windowpane, heart racing against their ribcages. "Chased em' out, they did. But our ol' great King couldn't help but blame the attack on Laire."

"What'd they do?"

The shadow disappeared, and Siarya could hear footsteps walking away from her. She let out a soft breath of relief, and relaxed against the wall, removing her palm from Eriana's mouth. "Slaughtered them-children and all. Ain't nobody gonna mess with the Royals now, although I would die to spit on them."

Somebody burped. "Doesn't surprise me. They've done things like this in the past."

Eriana moved slightly forward, and cautiously touched the window sill. Siarya, in surprise, quickly grabbed her arm. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to peek inside." She replied candidly, giving Siarya a look.

"Don't be stupid, they'll see you."

"Nobody ever sees me," Eriana rolled her eyes. "Stop being so nervous."

Siarya let her go in dismay. Eriana rose again and peeked inside. Her gasp didn't go unnoticed, and Siarya couldn't help but follow and look inside as well.

Everyone in the tavern had their wings unfurled and open for the world to see. All of them were Sephorian white, although there were a few where their plume were tinted gold. Men and women were laughing amongst each other, their feathers rising and twitching in response, as if they had personalities of their own. Something in Siarya spurred awake, and suddenly her own wings were restless to become free.

Siarya took a deep breath and focused on to distract herself from her wing's desires. Everything appeared to be wooden. The lighting was from a massive fireplace the size of one of the big settees in Siarya's bedchambers, and it shrouded the tavern with a warm, golden glow. Wooden tables scattered the area, and crowds of men and women sat and drank and conversed. There was a small stage where two frail old men played the banjo and harp.

The men she had overheard were near the window, facing the bartender who was serving large mugs of beer to multiple people. What caught her attention, however, was the very high loft near the arched, wooden ceiling. Two people sat atop, dangling their feet. They seemed to be watching the people below, discussing something quietly. One was a lithe woman with dark hair, and the other was a broad, muscular man. They both appeared as though they were in their twenties, and they both wore masks, concealing their faces. In fact, every bit of them appeared to be concealed with black leather. Siarya found them particularly strange.

"Who are they?" Eriana whispered, finding herself also fascinated with the couple. "They look like an odd duo, don't they?"

"They do," Siarya agreed skeptically. "I don't like the look of them. They look like trouble to me."

"Everything looks like trouble to you when it's outside the Hollow's walls."

"You can't even see their faces, Eri," Siarya argued. "They're all covered up and hanging from the rafters like ill-breds. Normal people don't do that."

The man she spoke of turned his head, and for a split-moment, Siarya thought he saw her. She panicked, frozen in place. She could feel his eyes on her, and Eriana gripped Siarya's arm so tight she wondered if she was losing circulation.

But his gaze passed over her and she exhaled a breath of relief. Eriana let go of Siarya's arm shakily, and Siarya shrunk back down, out of sight. "Okay, they're frightening."

"Told you." Siarya mumbled. Eriana shook her head and continued to watch as Siarya remained hidden.

"To be honest, the Royals are going into the pits of Totorous if they keep going this way," a large, beefy man explained to the others as he slurped up his beer. "Who do they think they are, prancing around with their pretty clothes and snot-filled brains?"

Siarya frowned. Her brain was _not_ snot-filled. Eriana appeared to be just as offended, but didn't say anything about it.

"Careful, Drago," the man with the raspy voice spoke, his bald head glinting in the light. "They could have spies everywhere."

"Yeah, yeah." He grumbled angrily.

"It's a good thing to have the army to protect us. They'll do their job, and we'll do ours." The younger man stated rather sorrowfully.

"Exactly,"Siarya said irritably under her breath. "Our army is perfectly fine. Except the Captain, of course. He can go stuff a porcupine up his—"

"Shush." Eriana snapped, enraptured by the men's conversation.

The man laughed, patting him roughly on the back. "Boy, you make me wonder sometimes. The Sephorian Royals are as good as Drovanians now, son."

"And once you go Drovanian, you don't go back!" A woman cried out from the other side of the tavern, her beer spilling on her hand. People burst out laughing.

"King Pantomon is dead now, though," said a man sitting near the bartender, who watched while he washed glasses with a cloth. "Killed in battle, I heard."

Eriana looked down in surprise, and Siarya met her eyes. The Drovanian King was dead? From which battle? What did that mean for Sephoria?

"Funny how that works," A woman sighed. "The King had two sons. King Pantomon may be dead, but there's still an heir. This one apparently wants to fulfill Pantomon's wishes, and I've heard he's fuckin' psychotic."

"We all know what that means." The nest went silent for a moment.

"Sephorian damnation." Siarya murmured, like an answer spoken from a ghost. Eriana heard it, and she turned solemn.

"Ah, well," a man sighed. "They've been after us for years. New bad King or not, doesn't change the fact that they still want to slaughter us all."

"Since they have taken weapons from Sephoria, the Royals have turned their backs on us," another person explained heatedly. "Innocent as they are blood-spillers, I say. I'm worried for my children."

"Damn right," one of the large, burly men grumbled deeply. "I have a son of five years and a wife of thirty-six. I ain't etting' her go when the fucking is that good."

"Oh my." Siarya whispered.

"Nice, but y'all know not everyone is innocent. I've seen some scuffles here and there and it ain't pretty. Just keep our mouths shut and we'll live on like slugs."

"Compared to the people who sit upon golden thrones, it ain't our business."

Something in Siarya softened as she felt a slow, gentle sympathy for these people. Uncivilized, yes, but perhaps innocent. Perhaps if she could tell her father to let them off the hook, things would be better.

"Who's that?"

It took a long moment for Siarya to realize the severity of the question. In a moment, Eriana's eyes widened in fear as she bolted away from the window.

"Eri—!" Siarya grabbed Eriana by the scuff of her dress and pushed her into the part of the wall that was shrouded by shadows and hid behind a bench. She couldn't tell if she was hidden before two men bustled through the door.

Unfortunately, Siarya was a clumsy girl, and they were incredibly fast. Both of them grabbed her, and as much as she struggled, her lack of experience and muscle couldn't compare to their heavy set frame. As they dragged her into the cavern for everyone to see, she fought to keep her hood on.

"Look what the cat dragged in," the man with the five-year old son chuckled. "A pretty little eavesdropper."

"Put her up there," the bartender pointed at the stage. "Show her some glory."

The others roared in amused agreement as the two men brought her up to the stage, holding her above the ground. She knew that their grips would later bring painful bruises.

They hadn't seen Eriana, and Siarya could only feel relief behind her fear. Her sister was safe.

"See, usually when I see a little rat outside the window, it's a beggar trying to snag some bread or somebody's last pay. Now, a listener is what I like to deal with. Mo' to accuse of, I guess. Mo' fun that way," the raspy man grinned. "I like justice, eh?"

"Oh, shut up, Ulric," the burly man pushed him out of the way with a swat from his hand. "Ol' man is all bark and no bite."

"Let me go." Siarya demanded violently. Parts of her fair hair began to slip out of her hood, and she knew it was too late.

The man narrowed his eyes. "Wait a second."

"Gods, is it—"

"No, it can't be—"The man grabbed Siarya's head and ripped off her hood, revealing her face. "It ain't her."

"But what if it is?" A woman with frizzy black hair took Siarya's face in her hand tightly. She grinned darkly. "We can get a lot of money off of her, Borden."

"Get off of me!" Siarya harshly shook the hand off of her face.

"Oh really?" One of the men who held her whispered in her ear. "Or what, you'll scream?"

People laughed, which frustrated Siarya. Irritated, she bit him. He tasted tangy and like dirt, and she immediately regretted it.

The man howled, letting her go. The other man, however, remained restraining her with an iron grip. "We got a snapper right here!"

Siarya attempted to tear her arm from the man, but to no avail. He sneered, "You're not going anywhere."

"Just who do you think you are, spying on us?" A man called out from the bar.

She yelped as her arm was pulled back uncomfortably. Heart racing, she frantically thought of every possible excuse in her head. Her mind, however, felt as blank as usual. Looking back at the window, she could see two brown eyes watching the scene in petrification.

Borden withdrew a knife, and those brown eyes grew in horror. _"Answer."_

"Food!" Siarya blurted out impulsively, and she stopped struggling for a moment to think. She tore her eyes away from Eriana's hidden, frightened form. "Food—I have a little brother. His name is Roger. He's sick, and he's starving. I was only looking for food."

Borden studied her with small, aciculate eyes. After a moment, he nodded at the man beside her. He let go of Siarya, and she stumbled back from the slight drop. Her arm throbbed from the man's grip, and she held it gingerly.

The frizzy-haired woman stepped up to Siarya's face. As she spoke, Siarya detected the profound scent of alcohol. "Your _name_, child."

Siarya's wide, panicked eyes glanced away from the woman's face to avoid eye-contact. She wasn't used to have her personal space invaded. Cautiously, she pushed away her language of elegancy—perhaps that would make her seem more common. "I-I ain't telling."

"Why not?"

Siarya moved her gaze to Borden's knife. The woman, eyes squinting in understanding, took a step back. "Put your knife away, Borden."

"You don't believe her, do you?" Borden exclaimed thickly. "Gods, she looks exactly like her."

"She could fly back to her pretty Hollow and send soldiers to kill us all."

At that statement, Siarya almost winced at the ignorance. They actually thought that she _flew _around the Hollow? Was it a big secret that the Princesses of Sephoria were prohibited from traveling through the sky? Not only was it infuriating, Siarya realized, but it was shameful. They were the only ones who weren't allowed to do what was fundamentally natural for everyone else, and not because of a disability which would be a fine excuse, but because of a _rule _that didn't make sense.

The man named Ulric withdrew a long, battered sword. "I can take care of that."

Siarya's heart leaped. They were going to kill her. The man—Ulric—was going to slice her through with his sword. He was going to stab her like it was nothing, and Siarya would be dead seconds later.

This was the end for her. This was how she was going to die—because she didn't take responsibility for Eriana, because she didn't take control in order to protect her and keep her from being seen, because she was so foolish as to follow an eleven-year-old's idea into leaving the safety and warmth of the Hollow and crash-landing in a tavern of abominations.

_Why am I so stupid_? Siarya asked herself desperately. _Why do I make all the wrong decisions? _

"We can't just killher," the woman barked candidly, and Siarya let out a hitched breath. "If she _does_ have a brother—"

"He can fend for himself. He's a boy, ain't he?" Ulric answered stupidly, his iron sword glinting in the firelight. Siarya couldn't help but shoot a glare at him.

Taking a moment to think, Siarya surveyed the nest. There were many people. They all looked tough and unnerving, but not all of them looked angry. Some of them even looked amused. Perhaps that meant her only enemies in the nest were the ones holding her, on stage and on display. The others were just… an audience. Nothing but eyes in the background.

Niera would tell her to run, Siarya knew. Niera would leave the fighting for herself, mainly on the belief that Siarya is a Royal, and Niera is the warrior who protects the crown. Niera wouldn't believe for a second that Siarya would be capable of fighting any real enemies, nor would she ever want Siarya to be put in that position.

Niera may have been overprotective, but she was smart. She taught Siarya some things about protecting herself—out of caution—even though Siarya was _not_ a natural fighter. Defense was something Siarya knew more about than throwing punches.

Catching sight of a scabbard on Borden's side, she grabbed the hilt of his sword. It was not at long as Ulric's, but it seemed sturdier. It was similar to the sword she used when battling Niera on their training mornings—but the swords at the Hollow are less battered and more regal. Borden cried out in a fury as the people in the nest laughed in surprise. She pointed the sword directly at Borden's chest as he lurched forward, stopping him from taking his weapon back. Anger and slight astonishment gleamed in his eyes.

Ulric grinned darkly, showing off brown, crusty teeth. "Little girl thinks she can fight with a man's sword, eh?"

Siarya, forcing herself to remember the times with Niera, spun the sword in her hand to intimidate him—but almost dropped it instead. Face burning, she fixed her hold on the hilt and tilted her head towards him.

"If—"Siarya let out a rattled breath, heart racing, as she stumbled over her words. She could feel herself begin to sweat, and her hands were shaking, but she didn't dare let them see it. Eriana was watching, and she wasn't going to let her sister down. "If I beat you, I'm free to go. Deal?"

"I hope you show me a good time tonight, because I would," Ulric burst out in raspy laughs, although some people in the tavern were exchanging glances nervously. "Oh, the things I'd do to you. The things you'd do to _me_." His eyes glittered.

_Don't let him make you nervous, _Siarya reminded herself. _He's creepy, but that's all he is. Just a creepy man with a libido. No problem. _

"J-Just fight me, will you?" Siarya demanded impatiently. There was only so long she could hold on to her bravery.

But despite his revolting words, something about fighting made Siarya light up inside; maybe it was the exhilaration, the thrill of the violence, or the excitement—either way, she could feel it begin to bubble out of her. She wanted to fight. She wanted to win.

Siarya, in anticipation, lifted her sword in a stance. Ulric did the same, yet more lazily. _I can beat him, _she mused. _I can prove that I'm better than everyone says._

But suddenly, something silver shot between her hands. The sword aviated through the air as Siarya gaped in confusion. She could hear the sound of metal against wood, and she was completely defenseless. How could Ulric have done that?

But it wasn't Ulric, it seemed. Everyone appeared surprised, even he. Looking down, she saw an arrow stuck to the ground at her feet. The stem and the feathers were bright silver.

A large _thump _caught everyone's attention. In the middle of the floor, a man stood in all black with a bow hooked onto his back. Recognizing him, it was the man from the loft. He swayed a little bit as he composed himself, possibly determining that he was slightly intoxicated. Maybe he _fell _from the rafters.

When he spoke, however, it was rough and articulate. He had a deep voice that made the air vibrate. "Let the girl go."

The woman also jumped down from up high, landing skillfully and far more gracefully beside him. "What are you _doing_?"

The man narrowed his eyes at Siarya, as if he were testing her with his words. "She's just a child."

Siarya glared at him, anger boiling up. "I am _not_ a child."

He glanced at her again, and for a moment she could have sworn to have caught humor in his eyes. But it was gone too quickly, and his expression was replaced with something apathetic.

"I _wanted _to fight." Siarya huffed, frustrated. The man didn't bother to look convinced.

"It doesn't matter who you say she is— the Royals will have you hanged if you try killing one of their own. I say let her go." The man continued. Siarya felt something inside of her turn cold; there was something so incredibly authoritative about him, and she wondered with unease if he was a Hollow guard in disguise. What if they were followed? What if he was saving her just to bring them back to the Hollow?

_No_, Siarya thought immediately. That wouldn't make sense. The man and the woman were here before she and Eriana stepped foot near the tavern.

"Who do you think you are?" Ulric snapped viciously. He took a few hulking steps towards the man, who studied him with penetrating eyes. Siarya couldn't help but notice that the man's eyes were a dark, eerie black. To be under his gaze was terrifying, so Siarya could almost feel sorry for Ulric.

"No one you want to know." The man said calmly.

"Now, you listen here, son," Ulric's eyes narrowed at the man, his voice cracking under the gruff façade. "This tavern isn't the place for newcomers. We don't like people sneakin' around, doin' things they shouldn't—and that's exactly what the little brat was doin'. So you see, we gotta teach her a lesson on spying, and we don't need any dumb brutes like you in the way."

The sword was beginning to feel heavy in Siarya's hands. She scanned the scene nervously. Borden and the older woman who had threatened her before were standing off to the side, watching in interest. They weren't making any moves to interfere. The rest of the tavern was quiet and observant.

The girl who was accompanying the man with the bow was tight-lipped and grim. She was glancing around the place, as if she had the right to be more anxious than anyone. When she made eye contact with Siarya, her demeanor hardened. Siarya swallowed dryly, trying to brush off the waves of contempt being thrown at her.

Siarya looked at the window again. Eriana was gone.

A part of her wanted to feel relieved, believing that Eriana had run away. But then she knew that couldn't be the case—Eriana would never leave Siarya in danger, not like this. Panic began to rise up at the thought of Eriana hatching some big plan.

Siarya wasn't going to let Eriana get involved in this. She _wasn't._

The man with the bow stepped forward towards Ulric. He was tall and lean, with enough muscle to suggest he was familiar with manual labor. But even with that, there was no doubt that Ulric was bigger.

"I'm not going to tell you again," he said slowly, as if speaking to a child. His eyes, however, were glinting dangerously. "Release her."

Siarya glanced at the door. Maybe if she could just move a little bit at a time, they wouldn't notice—

Borden caught her gaze, and then growled. Before she could do anything, she felt the sword being ripped from her fingers and then the cool feeling of a blade at her throat.

Her heart spiked with fear. There was a sword at her throat! _What do I do? What do I do?_

Siarya begged for Niera's voice to come to her, to magically give her advice to getting out of the situation. But nothing came. No instinctual fighting techniques, no genius ideas, no nothing. Just blank, burning terror and humiliation.

The man with the bow regarded the sword at her throat with an emotionless expression. He went very still, like a cat sensing danger, and she could see his eyes flitting from Borden to Ulric. Siarya could only hope he was making a plan.

The man stepped forward, towards Borden. Siarya felt herself lurch backwards as Borden jumped, his voice rumbling against her back. "Come any closer and I'll slit her throat."

The man stared at him. "You're bluffing."

The blade pressed harder into her throat, and she let out an embarrassing whimper. She could hear the smirk in Borden's voice, "Wanna bet, boy?"

The man's jaw clenched, and Siarya desperately prayed that this wouldn't be the end for her. She hated that her life depended on this strange man's decision.

_Please, _she pleaded, as if the archer could hear her thoughts. _Don't let him kill me. _

When the archer took a small step back, Siarya let out a soft breath.

"That's better," Borden said nicely. Too nicely. He jerked his chin towards the archer's face. "What's with the mask? You ugly or somethin'?"

"I've been told I'm handsome where I'm from." The man replied dully. Siarya stared at him, feeling something stir inside her chest. Something familiar.

"Sure you are," Borden said before nodding his head to the girl beside him. She was standing there quietly, like a statue, but her eyes were alight with emotions that Siarya couldn't interpret. "What about the girlie? Is she ugly, too?"

"Shut your mouth." The girl spoke for the first time. Her voice was smooth and sharp, like a whip.

Borden glared at her. "A little lady like you should have better manners."

She raised a pointed brow before saying calmly, "I could say the same about you, bitch."

'Now, see here—"Borden started, but then he was interrupted with a big _whoosh, _and Siarya was suddenly tumbling forward, straight into the blade of the sword—

But then someone grabbed her arm, roughly twisting her landing away from the sword's blade. It hurt and she could feel her muscles protesting, but the person didn't seem to care.

Siarya looked up to see the man with the bow staring at her accusingly, as if she had done something very stupid. She didn't like the look, nor did she like the man. It didn't matter if he saved her. She didn't trust him.

His gaze over her snapped up to the sound of Borden roaring in fury. Siarya followed his eyes until she saw Borden, writhing and trying to throw something—no, _someone _off of his back.

Someone had jumped on his back from up high, Siarya realized. When she saw a flash of blonde hair and bright wings, Siarya felt her heart drop to her stomach—

"Eri!" She screamed, panic spiking. Eriana was on top of Borden. Eriana was _tackling _him, her wings outstretched and free from their bindings. "Eri—!"

She had flown! _How could she do something so stupid?_

_To save you, moron! _Siarya thought angrily. _She saw a sword at your throat and did something about it, unlike you—_

The entire tavern rose up in commotion. Silence and the lack of interference was all gone now, and people were climbing on the stage. The man was still holding Siarya's arm with an iron grip, painful enough to leave bruises.

Siarya lunged forward towards Borden, Eriana still clinging to him, her arms wrapped around his neck. She was holding on for dear life, knuckles white as her fingers clenched each other. Her wings, stiff from disuse, were flapping irregularly. But the archer holding Siarya's arm pulled her back, nearly making Siarya topple over against him.

"_No,"_ he hissed. She could feel his breath just above her ear. He was so tall that he loomed over her, dark and menacing like a shadow. "This is your time. Go."

"That's my _sister!"_

She wrenched her arm away from him and he looked at her in surprise. She turned and ran towards Borden, but it was too late.

Borden managed to loosen Eriana's hold and with one big tug, he pulled her over his shoulder by her hair. At the sound of her scream, Siarya's blood ran cold.

Then fury came, hot and blistering in her veins.

_Nobody _hurts her sister.

Borden, with a vicious snarl, took her by the arms and threw her. Siarya could hear the older woman from before yell "_No!"_ before Eriana crashed into the bar area, glass shattering everywhere and raining onto the wooden floorboards.

The tavern turned silent as people held their breaths. They had all seen how small Eriana was.

"Eri," Siarya whispered quickly, fear and anger drowning her thoughts. She ran to the bar and fell to Eriana's side, who was cradling her arm. She wasn't unconscious—thank the_ Gods_—but she was crying. Her cheeks were pink and slick with tears, and flecked with small cuts from the glass. Her small wings fluttered before furling against her back submissively. "Oh Gods, Eri…I can't believe you flew."

"Well, what are you going to do?" Siarya heard Ulric shout. Her attention was focused on Eriana's arm.

"Borden!"

"I didn't know she was just a child!"

"So what if the brat is younger than you are?" Ulric replied sharply. "Finish 'er off, or I will."

Siarya's head snapped up, and she felt a snarl rip out of her that she never felt before. Her arm covered Eriana instinctively. "You won't _dare_ to touch her again."

Ulric looked at her once and laughed. "What are you gonna do, sweets? Yell at me?"

The man with the bow and his female companion were watching silently, off to the side. The man was staring at Siarya with an expression she didn't recognize, but it looked grim. In his eyes, however, there was something else. Something she didn't want to think about.

Borden and the other woman shrunk back into the crowd, quiet and hesitant after witnessing Eriana being thrown across the nest.

Apparently hurting an eleven-year old child brought out the morality in most people.

"I won't let you touch her." Siarya fell back on saying. She met his eyes and kept at it, refusing to look away, refusing to show fear.

"You gonna fight me, girlie?" Ulric grinned toothily. He began to walk forward, and Siarya tensed. He smiled wider. "You gonna kill me? Hmm?"

"No, she's not," the man with the bow spoke up again. This time, he moved to stand in front of Ulric, blocking him from Siarya's path. "But I will."

Siarya sucked in a breath, glancing warily down at Eriana who was staring at her with wide eyes. She didn't like how this man was standing up for them. She didn't trust these people—but for once, she felt grateful for the man's help.

But actually killing someone? Siarya felt a wave of dread come over her. Death was permanent. Death was something she wasn't experience in—she's never seen anyone kill somebody, and she's certainly never wanted to.

Was the man with the bow really going to hurt Ulric? She wondered in panic. Sure, the guy had been grotesquely mannered, but he didn't deserve to _die._

The woman followed closely behind him, but more hesitant. Her eyes darted between Ulric and the man, and then rested on Siarya. Her gaze still held the same amount of contempt, but there was something else. _Sympathy. _

Then she clenched her jaw decidedly. "Same."

"What is this?" Ulric waved at the couple like they were a joke. "All this, for a couple of whiny brats?"

Siarya, realizing the severity of the situation, touched Eriana's arm tentatively before leaning down to whisper just so Eriana could hear, "Eri. Can you move?"

She saw Eriana swallow before nodding softly.

Siarya sent Ulric and the others a cautious glance. The mission was over. It was too dangerous to stay—it was too dangerous to come in the first place. Exhaling deeply, Siarya said even quieter, "Okay, we're going to get out of here. I need you to move very, very carefully, okay?"

Eriana looked up at her sister and murmured, "They're going to try and stop us."

"No they're not," Siarya said, looking at the man and woman blocking Ulric from coming over. "I think… I think we're good. But we need to leave. Like, _now."_

"_Sia," _Eriana whined, her fingers clutching Siarya's cloak. "I'm scared."

"I know you are. It's okay," she replied. "You were brave today, Eri. You unfurled your wings and flew. T-That was incredible. Just use that courage again, okay? Follow my lead, and don't make any noise. I'll take care of you."

Eriana nodded, but reluctantly.

Then slowly, but surely, Siarya and Eriana began to inch towards the exit.

"They're just children," the archer said. "Killing them will do no good."

"Killing em' is the damn sport, boy," Ulric spat. "And I think yer out of yer mind if y'think I'm just gonna let em' _go."_

Siarya and Eriana's movement caught some attention, and Siarya froze. She watched as the masked couple glanced at them in acknowledgement, but didn't move to object. No one in the tavern seemed to care that they were trying to leave as they caught onto their intentions, but Siarya didn't like how the people shifted restlessly. Perhaps hurting Eriana had thrown people into a mutual agreement—the situation had gotten out of hand, and it was time for Siarya and Eriana to get out of there.

Siarya's theory was proven when Borden caught her eye. There was a spark of anger flickering in his expression, but he didn't move to stop her.

Siarya let out a long, silent breath before breaking from her pause, continuing to move along the wall. Her fingers were gently caressing Eriana's shoulder just slightly, just to keep her in reach.

Only Ulric became bothered when he caught their whiff of their goal. "Eyy!"

Siarya and Eriana froze, looking up with wide-eyes.

The man with the bow didn't look back at them. Instead, he said to them like a command, "Keep going."

With a short nod, Siarya nudged Eriana and they continued walking. They didn't even bother crouching anymore.

Ulric bounded forward, only to be blocked by the archer and woman. He pointed at the girls, "Yer' letting em' get away! Stop em'!"

"Let it go, Ulric." Someone shouted from across the nest. Many murmurs of agreement filled the air.

Ulric backed up, growling as he took in his opponents. Eyes traveling around the nest, he stopped on the man and woman, standing before him like statues. Siarya could see he wanted to fight. There was a devilish, cruel need for blood gleaming in his eyes, but he must've bit it back because he shook his head reluctantly, saying, "Fuck this. Fuck you all, ya' common sewer rats. You allll mean shit to me…"

He trailed off before harshly grabbing a half-empty bottle of whiskey from the nearest table. He put it to his lips and chugged, wiping his mouth and spitting at the archer and woman's feet before turning away, swearing some more. "Don't need this. Don't need all this shit, with yer fuckin' hosp—hospaly—hospitaliyy—this is fuckin' ridiculous—"

"Get him outta here." A man bellowed from the bar.

But Ulric was already moving towards the door, which just happened to be close to where the girls stood. Siarya tensed and grabbed Eriana to pull her behind her, away from Ulric's view.

The archer and the woman protecting them saw this and shot forward, but Ulric just sneered at them. "I ain't gonna do shit to em', you sick fuckers."

They just stared at him. Siarya was biting her tongue.

He huffed, taking another swig from the bottle, and walked out into the night.

At Ulric's departure, the tavern grew loud and rowdy again, as if nothing had happened. Siarya was breathing heavily, and when she looked down at Eriana, she could feel her relief. They were safe. They were okay.

The couple who helped them exchanged glances warily. They seemed to be having a silent conversation between themselves. The archer shot a look at Siarya, and a part of him seemed to move forward, but the woman grabbed his arm with a small shake of her head. A wordless warning.

He leaned in and whispered something in the woman's ear. Her eyes softened with something like understanding, and she let go of his arm with a small sigh.

The archer turned back to face the girls, his eyes lowered to study Eriana before flitting back up, meeting Siarya's eyes. He approached them almost cautiously, and a part of Siarya wanted to bolt. But she knew that the man had helped them both—he was, in a sense, to be trusted. He deserved to be given a chance.

The woman stayed behind with her arms folded against her chest, but watched with a calculating gaze from a distance. Whatever this man wanted, he wanted to do it alone.

Up close, the only thing Siarya could see behind the man's mask were his penetrating, dark eyes. It was unsettling to not be able to see his face, to see who this man really was. Who was this unwanted savior?

Siarya swallowed dryly, and spoke before the man could. It was more of a demand than a question, "Who are you?"

The man paused. His eyes remained on hers, ever sharp and intrusive. Instead of answering outright, he said, "I don't want to see you in this tavern again, you hear me?"

Siarya blinked, puzzled. "What?"

"This tavern, this place—you don't belong here," the man's voice grew dark. "Putting yourself in danger like this isn't cute. It's not fun. It's irresponsible and childish."

Siarya opened her mouth to say something, but then clamped it shut. She frowned. "I—I never said it was."

"You didn't have to say anything. You acted stupidly."

"Sia," Eriana said suddenly, her voice strained and breathless. It distracted Siarya from responding to the man, whose obsidian eyes flickered between them. "M-my arm hurts."

Siarya looked at her arm and grimaced. It was bent oddly, and her stomach twisted to think that it was broken. "Okay, hon. We're going—"she paused, feeling almost disappointed. "We're going to go home."

Eriana nodded solemnly before burying herself into Siarya's side. Siarya instinctively wrapped her arm around her sister, pulling her closer.

"Wait," The man said before they could turn away, his arrows clinking against his bow. "What is your name?"

Siarya stared at him. The nerve he has! Especially after a rude lecture about being responsible.

She wished he would just leave them alone. There was something strange about him, and she didn't like it. His demeanor, strongly withdrawn, held a shade of something seriously unnerving. Like there was something _wrong _with him. She could hear Niera's voice blazing in her mind, _look at you— thinking so poetically. I _so_ taught you that. _

Siarya glared at him. "I don't think that's any of your business."

"I saved your life," he replied, anger swirling in his eyes. "You should show me some respect."

Siarya's heart began to pound again. "_Okay,_ sir. Let's get one thing straight. You _hardly_ saved me, alright? And even if you did—I don't owe you anything. You did what was morally acceptable, but in all honesty, you had no business interrupting the situation. I never asked for your help."

That may have been a stretch, saying he wasn't really much help in the situation—but Siarya didn't care. She didn't like it when people pushed her pride.

The man clenched his fists and then opened them back up, like he was fighting to say something. "All I ask for is your name."

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because I suspect we've met before."

_Boo-hoo,_ Siarya thought. "I'm quite positive that we haven't met before."

"I doubt that."

"I think I'd remember you if I did," she said with a sharp glower. "And I assure you that I don't spend time with rude, arrogant men such as yourself on a daily basis."

"My arrogance is nothing against yours," the man said. "You think too much of yourself. What is your name?"

Siarya pondered for a moment, shuffling her feet. This man had already offended her too much already. She had no obligation to tell him anything.

But then Eriana decided to speak. "Her name is S—"

"—Sabeline," Siarya choked out, nearly failing to control herself from whacking Eriana in panic. "My name is Sabeline. Are you happy now?"

He didn't say anything at first. He just stared at her. "That is your name?"

"Yes," she replied sullenly. Ooh, Eriana was going to _get it_ later. "You have a problem with that?"

"I think you're lying."

"And I think you're out of line," she retorted. "What is_ your_ name, suspicious inquirer?"

He cocked his head to the side, his eyes studying her. "Mine?"

"Yes." Siarya folded her arms.

"I'm not telling you."

Surprise and irritation washed through her. "Now you're just being hypocritical. Why won't you tell me your name?"

"That would ruin the pattern."

""Pattern? What pattern—?"

Before he could respond, a large _crash_ interrupted the conversation, causing everyone to look towards the sound.

The doors to the tavern were thrust open, so hard that they had knocked and rattled against the walls. Five figures stood at the doorway, their bodies silhouetted and dark. Behind them, rain was coming down even harsher than before, the sound of the water hitting the ground like rolling thunder under the pavement

When Siarya's eyes laid upon their armor, she felt her heart drop. They were Hollow Guards.

Eriana tugged at Siarya's elbow with her good hand, but Siarya didn't say anything. There was nothing _to_ say.

But how had they found them? Siarya wondered, panic seeping through her veins. They had been so careful, so meticulous about their leaving the Hollow—Siarya had listened for every out-of-place footstep, every hushed whisper, had watched out for every looking eye to make sure they _hadn't_ been followed. Where did she go wrong?

When the figures stepped into clear view, another part of Siarya shattered. There were four men she didn't recognize, but the last figure was a familiar face.

Niera.

Their eyes met, and Niera's face grew dark with fury. Siarya felt the urge to shrink away under her gaze, as if looks could poison. Guilt rattled through her and very suddenly, it became difficult to breathe.

The others in the tavern, now recognizing they were in the presence of Hollow guards, murmured to themselves and backed up against the walls to give nest. Siarya and Eriana remained very still, almost like stone, dreading the storm of trouble coming their way.

The archer, who had been standing close to Siarya, took one look at the guards and then backed up immediately. It was almost unsettling as his eyes grew narrow and predatory, like an animal about to defend itself. The woman also followed him warily, her eyes never leaving the guards.

One of the guards spoke, his voice booming and echoing along the walls. "By orders of the Hollow Guard, everyone present is demanded to exit the premises immediately. Any resistance will result in imprisonment, or _worse."_

The people in the tavern froze and glanced at each other uneasily.

_"Now."_ Niera's voice rang out, angry and frightening, and shook them out of their daze. They shuffled around warily before wandering towards the door, leaving one-by-one.

The archer and his female companion moved towards the door, but Niera stopped him. "Except you two."

They both stiffened considerably, and Siarya frowned. Why were they getting held back?

"Why are you detaining us?" The woman spoke timidly, asking the same question Siarya was thinking.

"We were told that you protected the Princesses from danger," Niera replied, her eyes flitting towards Siarya and Eriana. When she noticed Eriana's arm, her expression turned grim. "You will be greatly rewarded for your courage."

So the secret was out. Siarya's lies were now uncovered. Oddly enough, they both looked extremely uncomfortable. The archer looked almost _livid._ Before the couple could respond, Siarya spoke up. "How did you find us?"

Niera faced Siarya with another look of fury. "I suggest you remain silent, your Highness."

Siarya flinched at _your Highness._ It was not often where Niera addressed her so formally. It meant she was real angry—unforgivably so.

"Niera—"Siarya started, hurt starting to well up inside.

"I said _silence."_ She snarled. Siarya clamped her mouth shut guiltily.

"Petrova," one of the guards said warningly. "Restrain yourself. You are speaking to a Royal."

Niera clenched her jaw and looked away from Siarya stubbornly. Siarya didn't bother to correct the guard's reprimand of informality; it would only make matters worse, especially since Niera wasn't supposed to be her _friend,_ under the orders of the Queen.

"It wasn't Sia's fault," Eriana said quietly. Everyone looked at her, including the archer, whose eyes then flitted back to Siarya in a direct stare. _Sabeline, _she had told him. "It was my idea to leave the Hollow. I made her come along."

Siarya grimaced, reading to contradict her. That was only half-right.

"Even if that were true," Niera said, her eyes trained on Eriana. "You were put in serious danger under the surveillance of your elder sister. She was to be a protective guardian, and she failed," Niera glared at Siarya then. "Not only did you risk your own life, but you risked your little sister's life as well. It was a selfish, arrogant move—"

Siarya felt like crying. She didn't let herself, of course, but her throat was swelling up and it hurt to hold it all back.

"With all due respect," the archer spoke, breaking the tension. All eyes turned back to him and the woman, but his focus was still on Siarya. It was as though he couldn't look away. "Whoever informed you of what happened here tonight misinterpreted our involvement with the Princesses. I assure you that we are content in walking away empty-handed."

Siarya shivered under his stare. The guards frowned, as if his words offended them. One of them said, "This modesty is unnecessary, good man."

"I assure you that we played no part in the situation that occurred here tonight."

"Sure you did," Eriana said perkily. The archer's eyes finally left Siarya, only to look pointedly at her sister. "You kept that big man from hurting Sia."

Niera studied the archer with an unrecognizable expression. "Whether you claim you saved the Princesses or not, it is still fact that our informant was quite clear upon your contribution of their safety. Is it possible to have your names?"

The archer and the woman exchanged looks. Siarya waited in anticipation.

"Hang on a second," one of the guards said. He was the tallest of the lot, with rumbling voice and a scar slicing through his left eye. Siarya recognized him from around the Hollow, but she didn't know his name. She watched as he stepped forward towards the archer and his female companion, his expression growing skeptical. "Where are your wings? Are they bound?"

Something in the archer's eyes changed, and he lifted his head. Siarya realized with shock that she hadn't noticed that the two people didn't have their wings unfurled. It was so normal back in the Hollow. Having been accustomed with bound wings for most of her life, the very sight of unfurled wings had been…weird to say the least.

But not in the village, she knew. Only her and her sisters were forced to have their wings bound. It was to protect the Royal line from outsiders, from Drovanians—but other individuals weren't under that rule. Nobles, soldiers, and villagers alike—they were allowed to fly and use their wings to their hearts' content. Siarya was jealous of this very fact.

_So why bind your wings_? Siarya wondered. Why contain your freedom?

"It is our values that cause us to bind our wings from sight," the archer finally replied. He snaked his hand around his companion's waist, and she looked up at him. Adoration filtered through the expression on her face. "We are mates. We only display our wings to each other."

"Do you hide your face as well?" Niera asked. Siarya looked at her friend, and recognized the face she was wearing. The face that showed that she didn't believe a word the man was saying. The face that knew more than she was telling.

The atmosphere in the nest seemed to grow tense, and it was coming off of Niera in waves. But why?

"The taverns can be dangerous at this time of night," the woman answered. Her voice was calm. "Much like tonight has proven. We merely believe it to be safer when our identities aren't recognized among rogues."

"You aren't around rogues now."

"I'm not so sure." The woman snapped. The archer jolted against her, warning coming through his eyes. She cowered under his gaze.

"Yes…" Niera said quietly. She studied them for a few moments. Then she turned to the four guards standing beside her, her voice loud and commanding, "Unbind them."

The man and woman heard this, and immediately retreated backwards. The woman's violet eyes were wide with panic and anger, and the man's stance changed into something predatory.

Siarya shot forward in their defense. "Niera, that is enough!"

Niera shot her a vicious glare. She nodded to the guards. "Restrain the Princesses and take them out of here. We will deal with the two."

One guard—a man with graying hair and pale, rugged skin—moved forward and grabbed Siarya and Eriana by the arms. He carefully chose Eriana's good arm, and then tugged them towards the exit. Siarya dragged her feet into the wooden floor, but she was like a ragdoll to his strength.

"No!" She cried out in fury. She struggled against the guard's hold. "Niera, _stop_ it! They didn't _do_ anything!"

Her protests were cut short when the archer grabbed the arm of one of the guards who approached him. The guard had moved to restrain him, but the archer had been quicker.

"The quicker this is done, the faster this will be," Niera said darkly. "Don't make us restrain you."

The archer glared at her, his jaw locking visibly. His gloved fingers were still wrapped around the guard's forearm, tight and unwavering.

He didn't move.

_Why wasn't he moving?_ Siarya wondered. Worry filtered through her system. _He doesn't believe they're bluffing, does he?_

Niera took this as an answer. "Restrain them."

At her words, chaos erupted.

The archer had twisted the guard's arm, a sickening crack ringing through the nest. Bursts of shouts escalated and suddenly Siarya was hurtling backwards, the sight of the guard's broken arm vivid in her mind. Her vision was blurred as the other guard holding them forced them to the wall, his grip painful on Siarya's arm. Niera was screaming out unintelligible demands, and suddenly there were crashing noises, signaling there was a fight going on. The sound of flesh against flesh.

Siarya, struggling against her guard, kicked him in the shin. He cried out in pain and anger, and she lunged out of his grip. Just enough to see behind him.

The archer had his bow in his hands, except it didn't look like the same bow from before. Now, there were spikes along the sides, sharp and glinting. He was holding the bow against the throat of the scarred guard, his arm swaying irregularly, disfigured and bent at a wrong angle.

The woman companion had two knives in her hands. Niera and the third guard were slashing at her with their own weapons, but she was quick and lithe, and evaded every move they made. She walked like a cat eying its enemy; feet grape-vining, elbows bent, shoulders hunched in concentration.

Siarya couldn't make a decision before her guard was tugging her back again, this time by capturing her arms from behind. She let out a shout, but stopped when she felt something cold and heavy cover her wrists.

She pulled at the metal, to no avail. _Handcuffs?!_

"You _handcuffed _me?" She screamed, fighting against the constraints. Her arms burned at the action. The guard didn't answer, and began pulling her away against her will. Eriana was crying in the background.

Then a horrible, wet noise engulfed the nest. The sound of gurgling made Siarya look back at the archer, who was standing behind the guard with the bow's spikes ripping through his throat.

Eriana screamed. A terrifying, banshee-shriek.

Siarya didn't make a sound. She couldn't breathe.

The sounds of fighting around them washed away, and all Siarya could see was the man shrinking to the floor, blood spurting from his throat, his eyes wide with shock. His mouth was bobbing open, choking, his jaw speckled with red. His hands slipped from his throat, trembling, slow, and his body lurched like a fish out of the water. His body lay on the ground, seizing, the wooden floors seeping in his blood.

Then Siarya peered up at the archer who claimed to have saved her life. His dark eyes were on her. They were emotionless. Apathetic. _Cold._ He was breathing hard, as if the kill had liberated him, as if he relished in the sight of the guard's blood soaking his weapon, soaking his _hands._

Maybe he saw the horror on Siarya's face, because the moment his eyes met hers, something in his expression faltered. But it was gone as fast as it had come, and she could see nothing but a killer inside.

_A killer._

The guard's body lay still. Blood still pumped from his throat.

_He killed him. _

Siarya couldn't breathe. She couldn't think.

Someone shrieked, the sound bringing Siarya back. Things were moving again as if time had been unpaused. Her eyes flitted to the source of the scream.

Niera and the third guard had the woman by the arms. She was screaming out, kicking and scratching like a wild animal. Siarya had never seen such fire in a person's eyes, so bright and livid.

Someone was pulling her away again. Her guard, Siarya realized. She had forgotten that she was to be sent outside. All she could see was blood.

And then black.

It happened abruptly. Niera and the guard were thrown against the walls from the force of the woman unfurling. Large, smoky wings casted shadows over the blood-sodden floor, viciously obsidian, so dark and intense that it sucked light out of the nest. Ethereal feathers rustled together as her wings stretched, their edges sharp and gleaming. She stood proudly over them, her expression smug.

Someone was screaming in terror. Then Siarya realized it was herself.

The woman's eyes flitted to Siarya. She was radiating in triumph.

The archer walked over to her, his own wings still bound. He wasn't looking at Siarya anymore, but she could see right through him now. Underneath his black leather lay hidden gray skin, marred with scars made from beasts and men alike. His eyes, so dark and empty, were too different than hers. Everything about him was different.

Everything about him was monstrous.

The guard at Siarya's side dragged her backwards for the last time. The vision of the couple disappeared, and the crisp night air crashed into her. All Siarya could hear were Eriana's sobs and the sound of wings.


	9. Proposal

**Chapter Eight**

**Proposal**

When escorted back to the Hollow, Siarya had a guard on each side, holding her by the arms. They were marching fast, and it was difficult to keep up—they didn't bother to slow down. Niera was walking in front of her, not looking back, and not speaking to her. She was all stiff and timid, like she'd break someone in half if they went as far to _touch _her.

Eriana was immediately sent to the medic's ward to fix her arm, leaving Siarya alone. She wasn't sure where they were going, but she had an inkling; she could only hope she was wrong.

They at least removed her handcuffs when they entered Hollow ground, but only because they knew she'd be unable to escape. They bounded and forced her past the multiple parlors and the secondary entrance, bursting into the hallway leading to the outdoor balcony bridge made from the Hollow's thickest, strongest branches. The skyway bridge would lead to the Throne Nest, which possessed the entrance to the giant tower where the Council met with Royalty.

Siarya felt her blood run cold. They were taking her to her mother.

She felt like dying inside until a sudden familiar face entered her vision—Evermarie. She was standing on the bridge's edge, overlooking the vast land before her, in the midst of the beginning of a storm. The hanging lanterns swayed in the harsh winds, shrouded her with flickering amber light, her face calm and beautiful until she saw Siarya being escorted by the guards.

Her eyes darkened with fury and alarm towards the guards. "Just _where_ do you think you're going with her?"

The guards halted, and Siarya let out a ragged breath. Niera was the one who spoke, and Evermarie's sharp eyes immediately cut into her. "The Princess is being taken to the Queen."

"My mother is preoccupied with the Council. I doubt she'll appreciate being interrupted," Evermarie said, and then she noticed Siarya's attire. "Oh Gods, Sia, what have you _done?"_

Siarya hastily rubbed the dried mud on her soiled gown to no avail. Sneaking out of the Hollow through a mysterious tunnel, running amok in the village in the dead of night, being threatened by tavern rogues, blatantly discovered by the Hollow Guard, seeing someone get horrifically murdered, and finished off with another encounter with not one, but _two _vicious Drovanians.

"Nothing of any importance." She said.

Her sister charged forward, and Siarya felt the urge to back up and hide, but the guards held her against her will. She reached and grabbed Siarya's chin, snapping her head up. "Don't lie to me, Siarya. I _know_ you."

Siarya reeled her face away from her sister's grip. Evermarie's words angered her. She hated that her sister believed she knew _anything_ about her—as if she hadn't been gone for the past year with her dumb husband. As if they were friends before that, as if they had been close. They'd never been like that, and Siarya knew for a fact that Evermarie didn't know a damn thing about her.

"Oh, don't tempt me, sister," Evermarie said. "I thought you had gotten over your ridiculous antics, being disrespectful and misbehaving left and right—"

"Misbehaving—?"

"Pardon me, your Highnesses," Niera interrupted. Evermarie and Siarya looked at her, both faces livid. "But we are here because Princess Siarya disobeyed the Crown and had to be rescued from the village, Princess Eriana in tow. There were two Drovanians present, and—"

Thunder crashed in the clouds above, far off in the distance as a sudden hesitation hung heavy in the air, and Evermarie's face transformed into something darker. "They were _where?"_ She turned her head to Siarya. "You did _what?!"_

Siarya swallowed dryly, trying to avoid eye-contact but failing.

Fortunately, Niera spoke for her. "The Princesses snuck out of the Hollow. A spy from the village contacted us, but we were too late. When we arrived, Princess Eriana was injured and there were two Drovanians there. We escorted both the Princesses back to the Hollow with one casualty—a guard, done by Drovanian hand—and I find this matter fit for the Majesties."

So that's how they had found them so fast, Siarya realized as she fought to forget the face of the dying guard. There were spies in the village. Perhaps there had been someone in the Tavern, just _waiting_ for any suspicious activity—and, in this case, it had been Siarya and Eriana's mysterious appearance. They had been set up.

"Snuck out of the Hollow? Drovanians?" Evermarie said quietly. Her face grew pale, and she glared at Siarya with a newfound hatred. "Eriana is hurt? How could you let this happen? How could you be so irresponsible?"

Evermarie pushed past Siarya, shaking her head. She turned and pointed to Niera. "I'm going to attend to my little sister—I need to know if she's okay. As for Siarya, the Queen may be in a meeting, but have her taken into the Council Nest anyway. She is to pay for dishonoring and endangering her family."

Siarya's eyes widened. "Marie, wait—"

"You do not," Evermarie snarled, shutting Siarya up. "Call me by that name so informally. You are no sister of mine."

At that, Evermarie huffed and walked off.

Siarya stood there in silence, ears still ringing from those words. She had never heard her sister say something like that.

She bit her tongue, forcing back the want to cry. Tears prickled at her eyes anyways. She was in real bad trouble now, even worse than last time. Except now, she was supposed to be a responsible adult. She was supposed to take care of Eriana, and she failed that. She put them both in harm's way. She should've told Eriana to stuff it—outside of the Hollow is simply too dangerous. Too risky.

How had she believed they wouldn't get caught? She shouldn't even be surprised! Of course there'd be spies in the village! Gods, she was so _stupid._

_Stupid, childish, naïve! _Siarya closed her eyes, willing herself not to break down in front of the guards. Humiliation seeped through her skin. _Moronic, brainless, stupid—stupid, stupid, stupid!_

_Why am I always so stupid?!_

The guards jolted her forward again. They were walking her towards the entrance of the Council Nest. She wasn't entirely aware of their plan; what they were going to do when they took her inside, she didn't know. Surely she would be punished, but this time it would be worse than any other punishment she had ever gotten.

The air rumbled in thunderous booms, and the murky sky crackled with splitting lights. A storm was brewing as the rain reappeared in heavy volume. The guards cursed and pushed Siarya forward even faster, nudging her to the doors.

Inside was warm and inviting, but Siarya didn't buy it for a second. This was the place where dark decisions were made. She was hardly ever allowed in the Council Nest. Only the Queen and the King—if he were ever present—visited the Nest often. Siarya didn't like it. She wanted to bolt back into the rain and run until she could never be found

The guards unfurled their wings—because, of course, _they_ were allowed to fly—and dragged Siarya up into the air. Their hands held her by her arms so tightly that they throbbed, and Siarya almost felt like complaining, but there was no use in acting childish.

They perched at the entrance of the Nest. At the landing, they finally released her. Siarya held her arms gingerly, trying to rub the pain and fear away. She could hear voices through the wood, which was alright, until she heard her mother's voice. _Gods spare me. _

"He's accepted," Her mother declared loudly from behind the doors. "It is now determined to happen."

"It will be a difficult turn of events…" Another man trailed off, the thunder outside forcing his voice into inaudibility.

"Safety is essential, of course… take horses in order to get to such a destination..."

"Wouldn't it be safer for them to live in Sephorian lands?" Asked an unrecognizable voice.

"…this still remains to be a terrible option…"

"He refused… coming to visit, the villages will be informed and there will… if they are disrespectful…"

Another clap of thunder sounded throughout the lands, shaking the sodden skies. For a moment, the Council was completely silenced. Niera took this moment to knock on the doors.

There was an agonizing time of waiting before a manservant opened the doors.

The Queen saw Siarya first. She was sitting at the end of the long table, beautiful and stoic as always, and surrounded by Council men when she peered up from her paperwork. Siarya watched as her mother's face turned cold and her body stilled. She _knew_ something was wrong.

Siarya felt like crawling into a trench and dying.

Not everyone noticed their presence, however. They didn't seem to have realized anything in the Nest had changed—they were sucked into their argument.

"This could have been prevented if the Sisters could just work their magic." A man, most likely one of the advisors, suggested.

"We shall do no such thing," a woman's voice emanated from somewhere Siarya couldn't see. It sounded echoed, as if the woman was speaking through a tunnel. She could feel shivers crawl up her spine. "We are not _slaves_ to your laws. If you wish for answers, speak to the Brotherhood."

An older man, probably in his mid-fifties, slammed something down on a wooden surface. His grey beard twitched and quivered as he spoke, "We are losing resources and our most valuable weaponry has been stolen. There is no other answer. If the kingdoms are tied, there cannot be war."

"It will not work!"

"Sitting here like animals waiting for the slaughter will do us no good, either, Ragnok. We must evaluate and examine the solutions we have, and so far, this has been the most prosperous. The Kingdom would be safer and we could have more time to—"

"Safer?" A man who Siarya assumed to be Ragnok said angrily. "If we went on with this plan, the damned crows will feel as though they belong here. They will stroll into our lands and bring upon chaos. You claim Sephoria will remain safer than it has been? With this so-called solution, we would be forced to bring the beasts into our _homes!"_

"That is enough," the Queen said. At the sound of her voice, all the men in the Nest grew uneasily quiet. They all looked at her. "We have company."

Lightning flashed, causing the Nest to catch alight. Siarya began to feel her palms sweat.

Everyone directed their eyes to Siarya.

"Your Highness," one of the advisors said, sounding surprised. "We apologize. We didn't realize you were present."

Siarya just looked at him.

"Siarya…You should be in bed, sleeping. Why have you been brought here to me?" The Queen asked. She glanced at the guards. "By the Hollow Guard?"

"Your majesty," Niera curtsied as she spoke. "Forgive us for interrupting your session, but an important matter has sprung up."

Niera then explained the night's events in quick haste. When she finished, the Queen peered down at her paperwork and began to shuffle them together. The nest was quiet other than the whispers of a few advisors and the sound of parchment. Rain drummed on the glass windows.

The Queen looked up and waved lazily at the Council men. "Please leave."

"Your majesty?" A man raised a brow in confusion. "Do you think it wise to discontinue this discussion—"

"Do not question my motives, Cedric," the Queen spat. The man, Cedric, nearly fell backwards from the heat of her words. "I have made my decision."

The men then looked disturbed. Ragnok was the one who spoke, "Certainly not without more thought, your majesty."

"Don't make me repeat myself," the Queen said. "I am not one to be trifled with."

"My apologies, your Majesty."

She pursed her lips into a thin frown. "I will speak to my daughter alone, now."

Siarya began to shiver. Not from the cold, but from fear. All of the Council men stood from their seats and made their way to the exit—but not before raking their eyes of Siarya in contempt. They brushed past her, and soon the Guards were leaving her, too. Niera included.

Despite Niera's betrayal, Siarya still wished for her to stay. Niera made Siarya feel braver than she actually was.

When the nest was empty, the Queen didn't talk to Siarya. Instead, she turned to face a large mirror on her right. "Narcissa, if you please..."

Siarya frowned. Who was she talking to?

But suddenly, the glass of the mirror rippled. Siarya watched in awe as a beautiful face appeared in the reflection—it was a woman with vibrant red hair and pale, porcelain skin. Her eyes were an unusual green that seemed to radiate light, and her lips were dark like coal. Everything about her emanated power.

"I don't like being called here only to be turned away, little Queen," the woman spoke. Her voice was hypnotic and strange, and Siarya recognized it as the voice that echoed before. "You should tread lightly with me."  
"I called you here for help, and you declined the request. Your time here has been long over." Siarya's mother said calmly.

The woman, Narcissa, curled her lips up in a sneer. "I think I am the judge of that. My sisters will not be pleased to hear of this encounter."

"You and your sisters are never pleased with anything, Narcissa," the Queen waved her hand as if to brush the woman off. "Leave us, or I'll have the mirror destroyed."

"That almost sounds like a threat."

The Queen glared at the mirror. "It's not the first time I've threatened a Witch."

Narcissa sucked in a hissy breath before rolling her eyes away. "Again, my time has been wasted by such trivial subjects. The next time you need me for war, little Queen, the Sisterhood will not answer to you. Not even if your Kingdom is begging for mercy," her glowing emerald eyes traveled to Siarya, whose blood began to heat under her gaze. "May your useless Gods have mercy upon your soul, child."

Siarya swallowed dryly under the scrutiny of the witch. Her unnatural, burning eyes. They stared at her, and Siarya couldn't move. She was frozen in place, forced to drown into Narcissa's serpentine vision. What did her words mean? What was her mother doing, communicating with such creatures?

"Narcissa," the Queen warned. "Now."

Narcissa's eyes were still on Siarya when she spoke again, "If you think such a union you spoke of earlier will save this cursed wench you name your daughter, you are mistaken. You cannot hide her from the dark forever."

The Queen stood up abruptly from her seat, fury raging in her eyes. "Leave us."

"Your funeral, little Queen." Narcissa cackled.

At that, the glass in the mirror splintered and the Witch's face disappeared.

Silence thrummed in the nest, and Siarya fidgeted with her sleeves. She couldn't help but stare at the mirror in fear.

"Siarya." Her mother said. Siarya jumped at the sound of her voice, heart pounding in her ears.

"The—"Siarya choked on her on voice as she meekly pointed towards the broken mirror. "The mirror. It—it talked. The woman—she was—was—"

"A Witch," her mother finished for her. "I know."

"B-but," Siarya stammered. "You hate Witches!"

The Queen looked at Siarya then. Siarya realized with a shock that her mother looked exhausted. From far away, her beauty was apparent, but seeing her closer, Siarya could make out dark circles under her gray eyes and the dark, weary expression on her face. She looked like a woman who'd gone through more than she could handle.

Her mother sighed, then. "I do, but under the circumstances, I thought it would be best to contact them. The result, however, was not as I had hoped…" she frowned. "The Sisterhood is not charitable, and they have the power to decide whether to contribute in things such as war. They used to be more intrigued by the idea, but now they find the whole thing…" she rolled her eyes. "…Trivial."

Siarya studied her. "You were asking them for assistance in the war."

"Yes."

"And they refused?"

"Yes," her mother said again. "They did."

"But… why?" Siarya asked.

"It's not of importance," she replied. "The reasons the Sisterhood do things aren't what I wish to speak to you about. The matter I have for you is more… important."

_There it was_, Siarya thought. She was going to be lectured about leaving the Hollow. She was going to be punished for shirking off from her responsibilities and putting Eriana in danger. She was going to be bound down to the Hollow, trapped inside these walls for the rest of her life.

_Just make it quick, _Siarya begged. _Just throw it at me. Get it over with. _

"As you know, your father has left again," her mother began. Her eyes grew slightly more distant at the mention of the King. "I don't know when he will return. Due to this… inconvenience, I have again been given the task of running the Kingdom in such a time of turmoil."

Siarya listened silently. This wasn't the conversation she was expecting.

"I have gone over every solution, every possible path that could guide Sephoria back to safety. I have tugged on every connection I have, every relative, every Duke, every creature I could reach—and yet, nothing has come of it," she let out a breath before putting her head in her hands. Siarya had never seen her mother look so tired. "Sephoria is at its end, and Drovania is still thriving beneath us. Soon, our walls of defense will crumble, and it will be for the last time."

Panic shot through Siarya, and she stepped forward. "You cannot be serious, mother."

"I am not… jesting," she answered sourly. "You must understand that I have gone over every possible solution that could be thought of before I entrust you with this information, Siarya. You must trust that I have tried my best—for you, _and_ for this Kingdom."

"I don't understand." Siarya almost wished the conversation had gone in the other direction, about leaving the Hollow. Any punishment would be better than this, where terror was beginning to creep up from her mother's words. This was more than a simple mistake in the Village, and her mother was not one to ignore the idea of _leaving the Hollow_ for anything else. Siarya was beginning to wonder if that issue was going to be brought up at all.

"King Pantomon was killed in battle during the last siege," her mother said. "That was a success for us."

Siarya nodded, her movements soft and fragile.

"Despite our enemy's death, however, the King has two sons. The eldest, Prince Domonic, was crowned the new King not so long ago," she lowered her gaze solemnly. "Meanwhile, the existence of Sephoria had become unstable."

Siarya looked up at her. "Is there to be another battle?"

Her mother grew very still. "No, darling, not this time."

"Then what are we to do? Salvage what we can and escape?" The idea brought a bitter taste to Siarya's mouth.

"No, that would be pointless," her mother said. "It would also solve nothing."

"Then what are we to do, exactly?" Siarya asked, crossing her arms.

Her mother looked at her then, eyes soft. She sat down into her chair and sighed, taking a few moments before speaking again, "King Domonic, his… betrothed… was killed recently, therefore he has not yet acquired a Queen to rule at his side," she announced as Siarya's eyes grew wide. "Such an opportunity would save Sephoria from war."

Siarya froze inside, speechless. She could feel her fury bubbling within her, but she dared not move. _It's a dream, _she declared within her mind. _A terrible nightmare._

Thunder exploded from outside the branched wooden walls, and Siarya shook her head in disbelief. "No… You wouldn't…_He_ wouldn't!"

"He would, actually. King Domonic has approved of the idea of this marriage. Most excitedly, actually, despite the issues between our people," her mother explained. "You _can_ redeem yourself for your mistakes, Siarya. You can become known by your enlightened decision to marry for the sake of her kingdom._ Especially_ after the incident tonight."

Siarya continued to shake her head, tears forming in her eyes. "No… No, I won't do it."

"You don't understand the consequences here, child. This is one proposal that you cannot refuse."

"H-He will kill me!" She shouted mournfully. "How could you let this happen? How could you?"

"I understand you're upset."

"_Upset?_ You told me from the moment I left the Hollow the _first_ time that Drovanians were to be feared. You told me that they were dark, and evil, and that they were nothing more than predators upon our very salvation. How could you bring up the idea of marrying their _King?_ How could you_ ask_ that of me?"

"Because Sephoria is dying under the battles that burn unto our lands," her mother replied. "Doing this, it will be heroic to Sephoria's very soil. You once dreamed for more than this life, Siarya, and I am giving it to you. I'm giving you the opportunity to save our Kingdom from destruction."

"You broke your promise of safety…" Siarya whispered. "You told me that I'd never be caught in the clutches of an undeserving man. You _lied_ to me."

"This alliance will prevent the Drovanians from overthrowing Sephoria completely!" Her mother said. "It will assure the safety of our people and perhaps put a stop to this war—"

"If you think some ridiculous marriage will make those—those_ savages_ cease from murdering our people, then you're off your rocker," Siarya exclaimed hysterically. "What's going to keep this _King_ from overthrowing Sephoria after I marry him, huh? Is he going to abide by the rules? Do you think he's actually going to play _fair?_ The Drovanians _hate_ us!"

"The Drovanians need our resources to survive in their darkness; resources that only we have. If our Kingdoms are united, we can provide them with food and shelter. Perhaps it will invoke some peace."

Siarya scoffed. "What_ Lord _in Sephoria is going to be willing to share their land with a crow? There won't be peace in Sephoria, mother, because the moment Drovanians walk into our lands, it will be nothing but bloodshed."

"Like tonight?"

Siarya froze, tongue-tied. "The last time I left the Hollow, you—"

"I know what I did," her mother interrupted. "And I do not regret it. However, things have changed. This time is different."

"Different?" Siarya gaped at her, her fury beginning to return. "Since when have things changed, mother?

"Since a union between our Kingdoms has become Sephoria's savior," her mother snapped. "Gods, just to think, Sephoria was always the Kingdom that everyone thought would win in this terrible, revolting war. We have the light of the skies, the abundance of nature and resources, the materials, the pride! And yet, the Drovanians have undermined us in every attack they've made. They've made us into glorious fools!"

"How?" Siarya asked angrily. "Who let this happen, huh? What advantage could they _possibly_ have that is powerful enough to bring us to our knees? We've always been better than them. We _still _are. We can _still_ win—"

"That's what I thought, too."

"Then why be afraid of them?" Siarya asked.

"Because they are terrifying people, Siarya," her mother replied tiredly. "I know that we have underestimated them enough times before, but there is one thing that I cannot deny about the people who live in that Kingdom—they are _clever._ Frighteningly so. They are smarter than most of the scholars in the capital alone, and I'm not referring to simple bookish intelligence. It's the way they _think_—their strategies, their plans, their resourcefulness—it's like the darkness they've lived in for years has nurtured them into these creatures that… that just aren't the _same_ as normal men."

_Of course, _Siarya thought. Drovanian's skin were tainted with gray, and marred with scars and gross, blackened markings. She remembered the first Drovanian she met—Gods forbid she ever comes across him again—and he had as many scars as a warrior having served decades in the army, at only the age of fifteen. For Siarya, at fifteen, the only scar she had (and still only has) is a small mark on her knee, from the time she had landed incorrectly while branching. It became hard to think of what lay beyond the boundaries of Sephoria, of what creatures strive in the Drovanian darkness that could cause so much misery and violence against the Drovanians. What beasts do they encounter, to have so many wounds at a young age? What kind of torture do they live with, to have their minds twisted for the need to survive?

"Then let's find people who can outsmart them," Siarya suggested. "People who know battle like the backs of their hands. People who—"

"I have," her mother interrupted. "And each time, they've come back dead."

Siarya shut her mouth.

"Either they are killed by Drovanians, or they are torn apart by the monsters that live in their darkness. I've had fine soldiers die by the hands of simple Drovanian peasants, because they are _that_ good. They are _that_ strong."

Siarya folded her arms against her chest and looked down at the floor. "How did they become so strong?"

Her mother shook her head. "Perhaps the Gods favor them more than we thought."

Siarya sucked in a shaky breath, her mind still buzzing from the recent information. Thinking of the impending marriage, her eyes began to flood with tears again. Feeling weak in the legs, she shrunk down to sit in a chair. She raked her fingers through her hair, murmuring, "I don't know anything about Drovanian politics. I don't even know how to be a _Queen." _

"That'll have to change."

There had to be a way out of this. This couldn't be the only option. If there was only a _way_ to change her mother's mind—

"And what of father?" Siarya asked then, peering up at her mother. "Does he know about this? Has he agreed to sell me off?"

"He's not—we're not _selling _you off, Siarya," her mother exclaimed. "And I sent a message out. Whether he's received it or not, I haven't a clue."

Something bitter and hot twisted inside of Siarya, and she clenched her fingers into fists. Of _course_ he wasn't around. Of _course_ he wasn't a part of this. Why should he be? Because he was her father? She was never enough for him. If he ever missed her, he would have held her in his arms every once and a while. He would've said that he loved her. But no.

Siarya bit her lip to keep it from trembling. "I never asked much of him, but he could at least be here, you know? I never asked him to be around, I never asked him to act like my father, I never complained—but could he be here for me at least _one_ time?"

Her mother's gaze softened as she watched Siarya, her face of tight constraint and stress ebbing away. "You don't have to pretend to love him, Siarya. I know he's never been there for you. For any of us, really."

"Haven't _been_ there?" Siarya spat. "I don't even remember the last time he talked to me. He's my father, and I don't even _know_ him."

"He loves you—"

"And now I'm getting married! Yet still, where is he? Gone!" Siarya cried out angrily. It was true that she was furious at the King, at her father, _whatever _he was to her—but there was also a glimmer of hope that he would change her mother's mind about marriage. Perhaps, if he knew about the possible alliance, he could put a stop to it.

Maybe he'd actually be infuriated to hear that his little girl was to be married off to a horrible monster of a man. Maybe that fury would snap him out of his stupor and make him realize how much he loved his child. Maybe he'd march through the big doors, bursting dramatically through like a hero in a book, and put a stop to it all. He'd say with fierce pride, "My daughter shall not be married to a man who is underserving! She is the daughter of a _King!" _

A daughter of a King indeed, Siarya thought. If he were here, he'd love her enough to keep her from Drovania.

_No._ If he loved her enough, he'd be here. Just that.

"Whether your father is here or not, I decided that we should make the preparations within the week." Her mother announced. Siarya's head snapped up.

"But… that's—"

"Soon, I know," her mother interrupted. "But it's better that way. It'll keep the riots from happening. I don't doubt that the nobles of Sephoria will object to this marriage, and their input would be unwelcome at this point. If you are sent to Drovania by the end of this week, it will ensure a more peaceful beginning of an alliance."

Siarya felt her heart drop to the floor. "Please, mother. Don't make me do this. Don't make me marry him. Don't make me go over there, I don't want to!"

Her mother saw the tears gleaming on Siarya's cheeks and grew timid. "Quit sniveling, Siarya. You are not a child. This is no time for pointless tears and adolescent behavior. You will sit up, clean your face, cease your objections and face your responsibility. Am I understood?"

Siarya didn't want to. She didn't want to follow orders this time, to be forced under demands. She hated the feeling of it. She hated everything about this.

"It's late. You will go to your nestchamber and rest. If I hear another hint of complaint, you will be put under surveillance and forced to spend the rest of your days in Sephoria in your nestchamber."

"You can't!" Siarya cried out. "How could you?"

"Relax, Siarya. It's only precaution. If you behave yourself, you won't be confined to your nestchamber. It is purely simple," her mother explained. She tilted her head to study Siarya. "However, if you do as you're told, I will grant you a privilege."

"Privilege?"

Her mother leaned forward. "For the next few days until your departure to Drovania, I grant you the permission to speak to Petrova. I find that her position may equip you with skills that may assist you when you leave. Drovania is filled with warriors, much unlike our less barbaric community, and Petrova may be a good influence on you."

Siarya stared at her in disbelief. "You… You let me see her_ now?" _

"Of course," she replied warmly. "Anything for your comfort, my love."

_Strange_, Siarya thought irritably. _I'm not feeling the comfort. _

"Now go," her mother waved her hand in dismissal. She peered down to the paperwork on the roundtable, as if the discussion was now too meaningless to continue. "I am busy."

Siarya's mouth went dry as her hands clenched into fists. Feeling disoriented, she realized that she was trembling. With anger or fear, she couldn't tell. Her eyes were burning. "You're busy?"

"The discussion is over." Her mother answered without looking up. It was final.

Trying her hardest not to cry, Siarya covered her mouth to choke back a sob, and turned towards the door. It was done.

~.~

Niera was standing outside the door, alone, when Siarya finally stumbled out of the Council Nest, looking like she was about to hurl.

Siarya stopped at the sight of her friend, and immediately began to wipe her tears away. She knew it would do no good. Her face was on fire, her head was pounding, and it was still pouring out rain, hints of wind bringing along cold droplets of water from the air.

Siarya found herself speechless.

Niera must have thought her silence was out of anger, because she then said, "If you think I'm going to apologize for turning you in, you're wrong. You know I did the right thing."

Feeling like vomiting, Siarya pressed her fingers to her mouth and bowed her head to hide the fresh tears that wouldn't seem to stop.

She didn't think she could talk. So instead, she walked past Niera with her face pointed towards the ground. Like she was shameful. Niera, however, grabbed her by the elbow before she could make it past, "Are you seriously going to give me the silent treatment? I'm part of the Hollow Guard. It's my_ job _to protect you. You could've gotten yourself killed, and you're lucky I was there to save you."

_ Lucky_, Siarya thought. _I'm always so lucky._

"And it's not my fault that you are being punished," Niera continued. "And what? A month's worth of assisting your governess instead of playing around in the village? That sounds better than being _dead _in the street by_—_by some Drovanian _thug."_

"I'm not to be punished." Siarya said at last. Nausea was burning in her stomach like acid.

Silence then hung in the air as Niera took in the words. Her expression turned from surprise to puzzlement.

"Not to be..?" She frowned in confusion. She tilted her head to give Siarya a second look. "But why? And why are you crying?"

"I—"Siarya tried to speak, but her throat was swelling to the point where it began to throb, where she couldn't find it in herself to use her words. _I'm going to throw up. _"I—I can't right now."

She tried to leave again, because all she wanted to do was be alone. She wanted to curl up in her nestchamber and ignore the feeling of her world burning to bits. Ignore the fact that she was going to be sent away to somewhere dark and cold. Ignore that she'd never see her friends and family.

She'd have to leave Eriana, Siarya realized. And she had promised that she'd assist Eriana in hiding her 'd_ promised._ What if something happened while she was gone?

But Niera wouldn't budge. "What aren't you telling me?" Her brows furrowed and she reached up to brush Siarya's hair from her face. Siarya shivered slightly at the kind touch. Niera's gray eyes grew concerned, "Sia, you're scared."

"I don't want to talk about it right now." Siarya replied, and she pushed Niera away with a sharp shove.

Niera locked her jaw and tensed. Siarya could feel her gaze burning into her, all steel and fire. But Siarya was tired. Too tired to be intimidated.

"Something's wrong, isn't it?" Niera asked then, her eyes searching Siarya's face for answers. "Something that isn't about tonight."

Siarya began to feel very sick. _Too _sick. "Niera, please—"

"Tell me what's wrong."

"I think I'm—"Siarya's eyes widened, and she lurched towards the edge of the bridge, and vomited.

"Oh child," Niera rushed to Siarya's side, automatically pulling her hair away from her face. Her other hand began to rub Siarya's back in gentle strokes. "You're not well."

Siarya spat out the last of the bile, trying to wash out the tangy, bitter taste in her mouth. Her hands were gripping the railings of the bridge so tight that her knuckles were turning a milky white. She'd never vomited before.

"Siarya," Niera said. Her voice was pleading. "Honey, what happened?"

Siarya spit again, disgusted. She wondering how to tell her everything she talked about with her mother. How to explain that she wasn't—that she wasn't _okay_, right now.

"I've been assigned to save the Kingdom," Siarya said finally. She let herself smile just slightly, just for the sake of humor. "I'll be getting a new title and everything. It's… a great opportunity."

Her mother had made it sound so heroic. Siarya wasn't feeling it.

Niera let out a breath, her face changing between a smile and a bewildered frown. "Assigned to save the Kingdom? What? That doesn't make sense, you're…"

"I'm getting married," Siarya said bluntly. Her voice sounded too light now, too optimistic. She wiped at her mouth and turned away from the railing, lifting her bare hand, which was slightly trembling. "I always thought I'd be proposed to with a ring, but I suppose this'll have to do."

Niera's eyes grew very wide. _"Married?"_ She paused. "To whom?!"

The weak smile on Siarya's face faded away then.

"Sia?"

Siarya bit her lip and looked away, her eyes becoming lost in the rain pouring down around them. "I've been engaged to the King of Drovania."

She wasn't looking at Niera when she said those words. She didn't want to see her best friend's reaction. She didn't want to hear the protests, because she knew she had no choice no matter how she felt about the situation.

"The King," Niera said slowly. "Of Drovania."

"It turns out that my marriage to him might actually save Sephoria from losing the war," Siarya replied with a half-hearted shrug. "Convenient, right?"

"You're going to live in Drovania."

"I imagine so."

"Are you being serious?"

Siarya didn't answer.

"Siarya, you listen to me," Niera pulled at Siarya's shoulder, turning her around sharply. Her eyes were cold and hard. "I've been there, and it's not like you think. It's dark, and dangerous. If you can't adapt to it, then you can't survive. It'll eat you up alive."

"Then let's hope I'm adaptable." Siarya replied feebly, feeling numb.

"How could your family send you there?" For the first time in the time Siarya has known her, Niera looked frightened. "How could they do this to you?"

"It's not like I have a choice, Niera," Siarya protested angrily. "They're making me do it."

"Who is?"

"My mother." Siarya declared.

Niera scoffed and shook her head. "This isn't right. This is—Gods, Sia, you don't even know how to _hunt!"_

What will that have to do with anything?"

"There are no plants in Drovania, Sia. They're all _dead._ No light, remember?"

Siarya looked at her in puzzlement. "How could I possibly hunt if there are no plants for animals to feed on?"

"Because they're carnivores. All of them. That's how they survive—it's a big, scary, intense competition for food," Niera explained. Siarya then began to feel sicker. "Drovanians are malformations—they're _just_ like what they feed on. If there are no plants, they eat the existing meat there is, whether it's alive or not. If there is no more meat left, they eat their own kind if they have to. It's just the way their life works."

"How is that even possible?" Siarya asked, horrified. She imagined Drovanians crawling all over each other like rabid animals, in a cursed world of mute darkness, tearing at their friends' flesh for food. "How could they eat their own kind?"

"Don't ask me how herbivores turned into raging carnivores when the darkness swept over their lands, because that's extending into knowledge that not even I know of," Niera replied. "All I know is that Drovanians are evil. I've told you this before, but if you leave Sephoria to live with them, they will rip you apart. Your mother has to know this. Somebody has to keep this monstrous engagement from happening. Somebody has to do something to save you—"

"I can't be saved!" Siarya spat back. Niera grew very quiet. "Don't you get it? I'm all that Sephoria has left."

Niera snorted at that and turned away. She peered up towards the sky, rolling in stormy turmoil, her breath fogging up the air and immediately washing away in the hurtling rain. One hand was placed on her hip, near the hilt of her sword, and the other was raking through her hair. It was silent for a long moment. "I bet your mother really gave you the speech, huh?"

Siarya looked at her in confusion. "The speech?"

"I bet she used a bunch of great details, too," Niera continued. "She probably told you that marrying a killer would save the world. That you were the _chosen_ one. Fuck, throwing you into the mix of war might even bring back all light to Drovania. Did she tell you that? Did she tell you that you were the _savior?"_

She wasn't sure if Niera was being sarcastic or not. Yes, her mother had spoken a lot about her being the "one who could rescue Sephoria" from all the bad stuff, but so what? What if it were true? The thought made her heart quicken.

Then Niera said, "Just because someone tells you you're something special, doesn't mean you are."

Siarya flinched, the blow of her words almost knocking her backwards. That comment had stung. Before she turned away, Niera quickly spoke again.

"Sia, wait—I didn't mean it like that."

"Then what do you think it meant?"

"I just…" Niera raked her hand through her hair again, her fingers becoming tangled in the wet mass of silver. She let out a long sigh. "I know how your mother treats you."

"What do you know about my mother?"

"I know that she's kept you unnaturally sheltered for your entire life," Niera said. She began to inch closer to Siarya. "I know that she's different around you, compared to the rest of your family. I know that she has fears that revolve around you somehow, and I know that there's a reason. One that she doesn't want people to know."

"What are you going on about?"

"And I know it's not like your mother to send you away to somewhere so dangerous. Not after all that she's done to keep you away from the outside world, to the point where she practically clipped your wings and glued your mouth shut—"

_No,_ Siarya thought. Niera didn't understand. The Queen has done everything in her power to keep the Kingdom alive without the actual_ King_ present. "She has no choice—"

"Bullshit!" Niera cried. Her face grew dark and angry. "Why sacrifice you, after everything she's done to keep you safe?"

"You're acting like keeping me safe is unnatural for my mother." Siarya said.

"It's not, for a _mother,"_ Niera replied. "But for Queen Genevieve? She's not as kind and good as you think she is, Sia."

"She's done her best with the Kingdom—"

"Maybe she has," Niera waved her hand in frustration, almost like she was brushing the fact away. "Maybe she hasn't. Does it matter? You're _still _getting sent away."

"You're angry," Siarya said softly. "And you're not thinking straight."

"I don't think anybody's thinking straight today."

That was one thing Siarya could agree with.

"So _if _you're getting married—and you won't be, after I'm done—when are you scheduled to leave?" Niera asked.

That was a question Siarya knew she didn't want answered. "Uh…by the end of the week."

_ "What?!"_

Siarya flinched at the shout. "My mother believes it will keep panic from happening. I don't imagine that Sephoria will be very happy that their Princess will be marrying the King of their enemies."

_"Obviously,"_ Niera spat harshly. She blew out another sigh from her mouth, beginning to pace with her hands on her hips. It was a few moments before she spoke again. "Well, evidently something must be done. You're not going to Drovania, that's all I can say. I'll try to figure out a plan. We can look for your father, we can get help. We can even talk to the nobles if we have to."

"Niera!" Siarya exclaimed. "That's breaking direct orders from the Queen. That'd be close to treason."

"Protecting you isn't treason."

"It is if I say it is," Siarya snapped. "And you're not going to do anything. It's not your place."

"Oh, don't be so stubborn!" Niera cried out irritably. "You've always been impossible about your safety. Tell me, what does your sister think?"

"Eri?"

"No, your elder sister," Niera said. "Evermarie. Is she as concerned for you as I am?"

"Why do you ask?"

"The more influential members of Royalty I can catch, the better. You are not going to Drovania, Siarya. That is to be clear."

"A-And you're thinking _Evermarie _will help?" Siarya laughed, although she didn't feel amused. She didn't even know why Niera bothered to bring her up. "I don't know. She'd be concerned, of course. But she won't be entirely against it. You know her, Niera. She believes that everything the Queen decides is a message sent from the Heavens."

"And Eriana?"

Siarya paused, causing a painful silence. "She doesn't know yet, either."

Siarya noticed Niera's knuckles growing light as she gripped her metal sword. "You don't deserve it. No one does. Drovanians are all sick-minded, dysfunctional and manipulative people. There's a reason why they're hated."

"I'm marrying one, Niera," Siarya added warily. "I'd rather not—you know—listen to the details."

She looked at Siarya sympathetically. "What do you want to hear?"

"I need you to have faith in me."

Niera laughed quietly, her eyes wet. She pulled Siarya into a hug, embracing her as an adult would comfort a child. "You're an insufferable imp, you know that? I will always faith in you."

Siarya smiled against the armor, cold against her cheek.

Niera, sighing, held her tight. "Farewell seems forever, but we shall find each other again. I promise."

There was nothing more to say between them then, because they both knew that farewell was a tricky subject. Siarya just buried her face into her only friend, her mentor, her role-model—cherishing the moment of peace, because she knew it could be her last.


	10. Dungeon

**Chapter Nine**

**Dungeon**

A few days later, Siarya was gasping for breath as the laces of her corset were pulled, mercilessly tightening her waist. Hands on her hips as ordered, she stood on a platform like a child's porcelain doll being garbed by a variety of maids.

They had done what they could for her winter-paled skin, although the thought of meeting her fiancé brought forth little color. It was said that it snowed quite a bit in Drovania because of the cold darkness; she figured she would adapt.

Winter was her favorite season, after all. Cold and ruthless.

Everything she would have to learn to be to survive.

_Okay! _She thought suddenly, embarrassed by herself. Enough of that. _I need to stop thinking like I'm going to die. _

She choked over her thoughts as another string was pulled, and her hair was forcefully strewn up in an intricate pile of braids and curls. Her cheeks were pinched, and her lips painted rosy. She wore dark colors today—a long, slim, violet gown.

"I shall be leaving shortly after your departure," Evermarie informed her as the maids turned Siarya, sticking pins into her skin. She had been hanging around Siarya often since the marriage announcement, as if their argument on the bridge had never happened. "I'm lucky, however. _My_ husband wishes me to be home, but he agreed to let me stay with you."

"Mhmm." Siarya murmured, wincing.

"You look lovely if I must add," She complimented sweetly. "Although it would be pleasant if I knew my own sister was listening to me."

Siarya did not reply.

"Stick her with another pin, will you?"

Siarya jumped in annoyance when a pin poked her arm. She looked down to see the maid blushing sheepishly. "What is it?"

"I'm attempting to have a memorable conversation with you, if you don't mind," her sister sighed as she took a sip of her tea. "You're leaving our home, after all."

"How long until, exactly?"

"Oh, within the hour, I suppose. I think the Drovanian King wants you by his side as soon as possible. Isn't that heartwarming?" Evermarie's lips curled into a small smile, although it didn't quite reach her eyes.

_King Domonic, _Siarya thought timidly. Her stomach twisted at the thought of leaving so soon. The past few days have gone by so fast—the very idea of marriage was still so surreal. "I keep forgetting he is a King."

Evermarie stirred her pink tea with a dainty, silver spoon. "Be grateful. It's not every day where you are sent off to marry a King, Sia. If I were you, I'd be ecstatic.

Siarya had to bite her cheek to keep herself from retorting something foul. She knew if Evermarie were in her place, she'd be setting a noose for herself.

"I wouldn't be ungrateful, Marie." Siarya replied bitterly, gritting her teeth. Really, she shouldn't be—Evermarie was right about the lack of Kings surrounding the two Kingdoms. Decades of war had torn the geography apart, and now they were basically isolated from the lands we used to be allied with. Both Sephoria and Drovania were alone and still engulfed in their ruthless hatred while other Kingdoms had drifted off peacefully amongst each other to avoid the war they knew nobody could really stop.

"You're finished, my lady." The little maid informed her. Siarya peered down at her again, and suddenly she could see that the maid was trembling—her frail, wrung-out, wrinkled things she called hands—her thin, mousy hair frizzled and gray. Her eyes were a watery blue. And for a moment, Siarya wondered why she never noticed the condition of her maids.

Before stepping off of the platform, Siarya caught the maid's hand. The maid's eyes widened, startled. "You appear exhausted. Why don't you have a rest?"

The maid's mouth went ajar in surprise, and hesitantly nodded. Siarya smiled kindly in response as the maid took a step backwards.

"Siarya?" Evermarie questioned, eying Siarya strangely.

"Hmm?"

"You're acting rather generous."

"And?"

Evermarie's eyebrows rose. "Nothing. It's just odd, that's all. They're just maids."

"I know." Siarya murmured, staring into the mirror. But she knew they were more than that. They were caretakers.

Evermarie took hold of Siarya's arm. "Come. We should go before someone notices your absence. The carriage should be here soon, anyways," her eyes grew very bright. "Aren't you excited, Siarya?"

Siarya held her tongue. If she could fly away, she would.

~.~

A carriage was arranged at the drawbridge of the Hollow, brightly shimmering in the light. It was unusual for a carriage to be used, considering travel was generally done by flight. But Siarya was still prohibited from unfurling her wings, so she was stuck to sitting in the stuffy carriage.

Her mother stood near the carriage as Evermarie held Eriana, who was crying into Evermarie's waist. She was the only one who appeared to be actually upset.

Her father, of course, wasn't present.

Siarya stopped by her family. Her mother moved forward, stiff and apathetic, with a violet cloak in her hands. She draped the warm velvet over Siarya's shoulders, who leaned into the touch. She fingered the soft material, noticing the Royal sigil sewn into the fabric. "What's this for?"

"To keep you warm in Drovania," her mother replied. She rubbed Siarya's upper arms as if to comfort her. "Whatever you do, don't take this off."

Before Siarya could reply, Eriana let go of Evermarie and grabbed Siarya's waist in protest, causing her stumble backwards. "Don't go!"

Siarya knelt down to her height, pushing back the tears in her eyes. She smiled for her, stroking her delicate face. Eriana's cheeks were blotchy. Feeling her throat closing up, Siarya managed to speak with a cheerful tone. "Don't worry, sweet. I will always return; I promise you that. I will always keep you safe, no matter where I am."

Eriana made a miserable noise, and hugged Siarya tightly. "I love you."

Siarya's heart fluttered, cherishing her little sister's touch. She pulled her closer. "I love you, too. _So _much."

Just holding her there in her arms reminded Siarya of all the years she had spent caring for her little sister. It hurt to remember. Sucking in a breath, she pulled away from Eriana to clutch her face with her hands. She spoke quietly so that only Eriana could hear. "You need to promise me that you'll take care of yourself."

She was talking about her magic. Eriana knew this, and reached up to grab Siarya's wrists. Not to stop her, but to hold her close. "I-I'm scared, Sia. What if—what if I c-can't—"

"You can," Siarya said calmly. She looked Eriana in the eye. "You will."

Eriana's breath turned into small hiccups. She took in Siarya's words and nodded finally, head bowing, her fingers tightening on her wrists.

"Ready, my lady?" A footman asked, holding out his hand. She didn't want to take it. She was tremulous inside; she didn't want to leave.

But then Eriana was being torn away from Siarya's arms. Her heart fluttered sadly at the cold emptiness of the absence. Eriana wailed longingly when their mother pulled her away, but Siarya was already being led—rather forcefully—into the carriage with a final look at her family.

Starlight shone upon them like heavenly fire, illuminating them together, connected by arms and hands. But nothing was right. Her mother, blank-faced and cold, made the warmth of the light look chilled. Her arms were restraining a struggling, tearful Eriana—and goodbye wasn't supposed to be that way. Evermarie was standing among them, stiff and noble, never questioning the rightness of things. Her expression remained prideful.

And that was the last she saw of them, before the carriage door swung shut. Then Siarya was lost in her grief. She fought to focus on the inside of the carriage—the patterned walls, the color of velvet everywhere. The seats were made of a different material than silk. Something thicker, and evidently really expensive.

Soon, everything began to blur. Siarya sniffed and swiped at her eyes, her palms coming back wet.

Eriana was still crying out Siarya's name when the carriage moved abruptly, jolting at the horses' canter. She clenched her fists as the sound of Eriana faded, and raw misery fell over her like a blanket. Gazing out the curtained window, the carriage exited the boundaries of the Hollow, leaving behind her only home.

_I promise I'll come back to you, _she had said. _I promise. _

She wondered if she would ever be able to keep that oath.

Hours passed, but it felt like days. The carriage passed many villages, only two small villages she recognized—Yua and Durmos—and eventually she noticed they were moving towards the outskirts of Eloraia. They cantered through forests and through dry, dusty roads. At one point, she thought she caught a glimpse of the sea, but it was gone too fast for her to know for sure.

She sat in silence the entire time—after all, no maids had accompanied her, and the only companionship nearby were the set of guards surrounding the carriage. So Siarya glumly listened to the sounds of the rumbling carriage instead.

When nightfall came, snow softly floated downwards in flurries, the air shifting into its icy chill. Siarya shivered, holding her cloak closer for warmth. Soon enough though, the slow thunder of the carriage began to soothe her, and her mind was lost to slumber. For once, it was peaceful.

But then something was really, _really_ wrong.

Flames—small flames—hissed at a dark entity close by as if they were the only thing standing in its way of danger. She knew time was vanishing.

Panic spiked through her. _I will not let go. _

Darkness raged as blood splattered and exhilarating fear seeped through her veins. This war, vicious and merciless, was part of her. It was born into her veins, into her own, torn heart.

_Stand your ground. _

There was a hum of sweet lullabies, soft breath tickling her ear pleasantly. Plush lips pressed against her temple, her forehead, her cheek. A thunderous storm made the world quake, roaring monsters in the wind outside, calling out names in their sing-song voices.

Dread. Fear. Grief. _We've fought enough. _

Hope.

_It'll be okay_, words murmured. Pale hands were trembling. Tears dripping onto her cheek—not her own tears. _It's going to be okay, love, I promise._

Cries for help sounded through the night, soon followed after by the sound of blood and flesh being sliced by axes and spears. She couldn't help them; she was no hero, they knew that. Metal clashed against metal, and even up in the blackened sky, red rained down from the winged soldiers that fought from atop.

_Don't cry, sweet baby. Be quiet for mama now. You have to be quiet._

Her baby. _She's mine. _

_No one can take her._

_Mine._

The beast glared, as if through her soul, with its putrid black eyes. Its horns twisted dangerously as it roared its deadly call for death. Soldiers stood behind her, but it may not be enough. There were so much more.

But it was her battle to fight. It was her that brought them here; it was _her_ they wanted.

Glass rained down from the sky. Fire. Magic.

"_Siarya,"_ a voice called, sickly musical. Gray-skinned fingers wrapped around her wrist, cold and deathly, nails like talons. Black eyes loomed over her, a bloody smile, with fangs for teeth. Shadowed wings brushed her own. _"It's time."_

Everything was red; dark red, like the color of the beast's skin. Red, like the color of blood in her fiancé's teeth. Her skin was on fire, and she fell to the ground as the cry of the beast was silenced with the ringing in her ears. Lightning flashed and a silhouette of the Queen stood at the doorway, sodden with rain.

_Its time._

The horses shrieked and the carriage lurched, causing Siarya to nearly fall to the floor of the carriage. A sharp pain stabbed at her temple. She blinked sluggishly, realizing she had been having another nightmare.

Her head was throbbing. She shakily touched her temple, and hissed in pain when her fingers came back red. Blood. _I'm bleeding_, she realized in shock.

There were shouts of men outside. Siarya could hear the sound of metal—of weapons. Then everything became clear; the lurch of the carriage, the hot rush of blood drizzling down her cheek, the shouting—

_Oh Gods,_ she thought suddenly. _We're being attacked._

But by who?

And where was she? Drovania?

Taking a tremulous breath, Siarya moved the curtains away from the small window of the carriage.

Whatever fight was happening, it was happening on the other side of the carriage. She could see it was night time, but relief washed over her when she saw it was still in Sephorian lands. Ahead was a stone bridge. It was long, and it seemed endless, because it was pitch black at the very end.

Siarya knew that between the lands of Sephoria and Drovania, there was a canyon of darkness. No man ventured down into its clutches; no being could survive in such a place. Legends claim there are seas of blood and vicious creatures that were born from the hatred of mankind; it is not Drovania, nor is it Sephoria, but it is simply the _Dark._

But it had to be crossed to enter Drovania. The long, everlasting stone bridge was made in early times for trade, and it arched over the dark canyon. It was a haunting, spectral bridge that even the Sephorian horses preferred not to cross.

So that's where she was—they were being attacked on the boundary of Sephoria. That meant the killers could be anybody, Sephorian or Drovanian.

Siarya looked at the red on her fingers. _What do I do?_

A bloodied hand slammed against the window, and Siarya let out a scream, lurching backwards against the seat. A face looked at her through the glass, a Sephorian guard, blood dripping from his lips. He mouthed the word, "_Run". _

_Run._

She knew what that meant.

The guards couldn't protect her.

Siarya didn't think. She didn't wonder where she was going to go, or how many assassins were outside the carriage, or if she'd even survive—the only thought racing through her mind was _run_.

She bundled up her skirts, kicked open the carriage door, and ran. The world blurred around her as she went, eyes tearing up in terror, hands clenched into fists. She ignored all sounds of slaughter, ignored all visions of blood and vile, because she didn't want to know how many of her guards had been murdered. She was afraid that if she looked back, she'd see a dozen assassins on her tail.

She ran until her feet hurt. She ran until her throat burned, and her chest heaved in pain. She ran until she couldn't breathe anymore, and only then did she turn to look around.

The carriage was gone from sight. No one was behind her.

Siarya let out a gasp of joy before leaning against something hard and rough—a tree. It looked as though she'd stumbled into a small thicket. She wasn't entirely sure where she was, location-wise. She had no clue where the closest village was.

She stood there, leaning against the one tree, taking in deep breaths like the very taste of air was her salvation. _I'm alive, _she thought wildly. She wanted to laugh. _I'm alive. _

But then the severity of the situation rammed into her, and air suddenly threatened to escape her lungs again. She'd been attacked by assassins. Her guards were probably dead. She was alone.

As Niera would say so bluntly, she was, in lack of better words, "fucked".

"Okay," Siarya murmured to herself. She inhaled deeply, her fingers digging into the tree bark. "Okay," she repeated. "I'm alive, I'm okay…"

She needed to find help. Maybe if she could find a village, she could get someone to contact the Hollow Guard. Someone would have to let her family know what happened. Someone would have to let _Drovania_ know what happened.

The King of Drovania was expecting her. What would he do if she didn't show up?

Her head throbbed again, and she remembered that she was injured. How hard did she hit her head? A concussion was the last thing she needed right now. She hesitantly touched the gash on her temple lightly, and winced at the pain.

Her fingers came back a little bloody, but not as much as before. At least she wasn't bleeding out.

"Well hello there," a voice said from behind her. Eyes widening, Siarya turned to whip around, but was stopped when a hand clamped over her mouth, another hand wrapped around her waist. Her back was pressed up against someone's chest. She screamed, panicking, but it was muffled by his fingers, and the bitter rag being held up against her nose—

Her vision began to darken, and she could hear him whisper in her ear, his arms tightening around her as her legs began to weaken. "You run fast, child. I can make good use of that."

Tears escaped her eyes, but she could do nothing but claw at his hands until her body refused to move, and everything slipped into black.

~.~

Siarya woke to the sound of footfalls. Her stomach felt tight and sore, and it was difficult to breathe. Her head was heavy, and it took a few moments to realize that she was thrown over someone's shoulder.

She opened her eyes. Blinking the blurriness away, she could see the backs of the man's boots, splattered with dried mud, and the dirt on the ground, covered in dead bark and devoid of life. The man walked silently.

She bit her tongue to keep herself from panicking. Should she reveal she was awake? Should she try to escape? Looking around, she wondered if she could knee the man in the chest, and then run for it. But as she took in her surroundings, she noticed how dark it was—it must be around midnight—and no one would be outside at this time of hour. Who could she go to for help?

She peered up to the sky, and her stomach clenched.

Something was wrong. Really, _really _wrong.

There were no the stars in the sky, turning the world into an abnormal shade of obsidian. There were _always _stars in Sephoria. Siarya used to watch them pass over Eloraia, hour after hour. They never vanished.

As if she were finally coming to her senses, she then felt the iciness of the air bite at her skin. She turned her head, examining her surroundings a second time—there were trees around her, but no sign of leaves. No sign of grass. Dread seeped out from the cryptic shadows, and a painful howling then traveled in the wind, causing shivers to crawl up her spine.

Where was this kidnapper taking her?

Siarya, unsure of what to do, remained silent. The terrain became rockier, and she fought to ignore the awful darkness engulfing her from the lack of stars, but Siarya couldn't look away. There wasn't even a _moon_.

She could hear the man breathing; just small pants as he trekked. She forced herself to remember to breathe as well.

Letting the kidnapper carry her around like a sack was ridiculous. She couldn't stay with him—even though she had no clue where she was, anywhere would be better than here, thrown over the shoulder of a murderer. Her muscles tensed, ready to shove her knee right up into his stomach—

"I wouldn't if I were you," he said then, and Siarya froze. "If you run, you'll get eaten."

_Eaten?!_

Siarya's voice got stuck in her throat as her heart began to pound wildly. Her knee was still slightly bent. "I-I—where are y-you taking m-me?

She tried to pretend that the bumpy terrain was the reason for her stammering, but she couldn't ignore the fear racing through her veins.

Instead of answering, the man stopped walking. He stood there for a moment, Siarya strung over his shoulder, his frame still and quiet. Then he bent down to release Siarya, who stumbled backwards from lack of coordination. Her stomach throbbed with relief.

Unsure of why he let her go, she peered up to see her kidnapper. He was wearing a black mask, covering the top-half of his face. _Of course._

"W-What do you want with me?" She asked him, her voice tremulous. Her eyes flitted back-and-forth, trying to see through the darkness. "Where have you taken me?"

"To Drovania," he answered bluntly. He gave her a charming smile, and her stomach clenched. "Home of the wild, of course."

"Drovania?" She said, breathless. "B-But—"

Looking again, through the darkness she could see silhouettes of black mountains in the distance, and somber villages that were alight with spots of flame. Torches lit up the buildings like candles, flickering unnaturally in the hidden villages. They were so small and faded that she hadn't noticed them before, but now that she could see them, she wondered how she hadn't spotted them the first time.

_Drovania,_ she thought with dread. _I'm in the land of demons. _

Another chilly breeze brushed against Siarya's body, sending prickles down her skin. She looked up at her kidnapper. "What d-do you want f-from me?"

The man regarded her with a sniff, before reaching to pull a long dagger from a scabbard hanging from his belt. Siarya's heart pounded at the sight of the glinting metal, sharp and rusted with dried blood. She then remembered the guards back at the carriage—slaughtered, bloodied, murdered—the vision of a bloody hand dragging against the window as a warning. There had been seven guards escorting her to Drovania. All of them were gone.

And yet only one kidnapper stood before her, weapon in hand.

"Please," Siarya gasped, stumbling backwards. "I beg of you. I-I mean no harm to you."

"Oh, don't I know that, darling?" The man replied smugly. His voice was raspy. "You haven't a bit of fight in your bones, I bet."

Siarya swallowed dryly. She stared at the dagger, gaze unwavering. "P-Please don't kill me."

The man let out a booming laugh. "Kill you?" He waved the dagger around like it was nothing but a stick. He reached behind him and pulled a dirtied rag from his back pocket, and began to wipe the blood from the blade. "That would make many people very unhappy with me, child. And quite frankly, it'd be much of a waste."

"T-Then what do you want with me?" Siarya asked, hints of relief filtering through her body.

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he stood before her, studying his dagger with a small frown. His thumb was rubbing the blade in slow circles, the rag still clenched in his hand. "Poison is an interesting weapon, is it not?"

"Excuse me?" Siarya said dumbly.

"Poison," the man repeated, sending Siarya a glare as if to say she was stupid. "It just takes…" his fingers treaded the blade of the dagger softly as he spoke, "…_One_ small prick, and suddenly your blood is being invaded, and your body goes under siege. But eventually the walls of defense break, and the enemy punctures the heart…"

Siarya stared at him in silence. She began to feel very nauseous.

"I thought to myself, poison is the most deadly of all weapons," the man continued. "So easy to manipulate, you could kill seven guards and take the time to enjoy it, without all the stress of the fight. I sometimes forget how pretty the eyes look when people know they're going to die. Poison lets me savor such sweet moments."

_He _murdered her guards? Just one man? Breath hitching, Siarya said chokingly, "You're sick."

"But _you,"_ he said, pointing the dagger at her as he spoke. "I had to use something special for you, my dear. There's not much that can knock you out, I know, but I managed to scrounge up some magic juice. Yet it seems you've woken up before my job was finished—I suppose I should've known your blood would be stronger than I thought—quite inconvenient, I'd say. It's a lucky thing I keep more witch poison on myself, Princess, or else you'd be getting _another _bump on that pretty little head of yours."

Siarya instinctively rose to touch the wound on her temple. "I-I have no idea what you're talking about," she paused, realizing the man had called her the _Princess—_which meant he_ knew._ "W-Whatever you want from me, I promise my family will pay you. J-Just don't hurt me—"

"I'm not holding you for ransom, sweetheart," he said softly. "I'm just doing someone a big favor."

He turned away from her then to stare out into the darkness. She wondered if she could just bolt and run for her life—but something about this man made her think she was out of her league. This man had killed seven of her men. He was dangerous.

But she couldn't possibly stay near him for another second. She had to come up with a plan.

"Well?" He questioned after Siarya didn't answer. He was still staring into the dead forest. "Aren't you going to ask who?"

"I don't need to," Siarya replied flatly. "There are many people out there who wish me dead. It doesn't surprise me."

"No, I suppose not," he hummed. "But this individual doesn't want you dead, child. Quite the opposite, actually."

"What are you talking about?" She asked. She shifted on her feet nervously, fidgeting with the hem of her cloak. "Where were you taking me?"

"Where do you think I was taking you? The Drovanian Castle, of course."

Siarya furrowed her brows, puzzled. "B-But that's where I was heading in the first place."

"_Wrong!"_ The man shouted loudly, causing Siarya to jump in fright. He spun around to look at her, eyes large and gleaming, his mouth spread in a wide grin. "I know for a fact that you would've never made it past the bridge."

"W-What?"

"But you believed you were traveling to your dear fiancé, yes?" He continued. He began to pace, and Siarya didn't like the glimmer of something in his eye, something she didn't recognize. "Even your guards thought so. And it would've gone according to plan, until your carriage met the bridge—then boom! You'd be gone. Out of this world, forever."

"F-Forever? You mean I'd_ d-die?" _

"Uh," he hesitated before clearing his throat. He tucked the dagger away—finally—in his scabbard. "In a way of speaking. But it doesn't matter! We have _business_ to attend to."

Siarya couldn't help but ask, "What's so wrong about the bridge? W-Why would I have been in danger?"

"It's not about what's _wrong_ the bridge, sweet child," he turned back to her, a feral smile spread on his face as if the conversation was liberating him. Like he was a little boy, bouncing around in excitement, dying to spill gossip that he heard. "It's about what's _under_ it."

"L-Like a troll?" Siarya wondered, thinking automatically of the old fairytales she'd heard in her childhood.

"No," he grimaced. He sent her a disappointed, sharp glare. "The _Dark,_ dearie. It's about what's in the _Dark. _The Queen obviously didn't raise you to be very bright, did she?"

"What's in the Dark—?"

"Something nobody wants you to know about," he declared. "Not even your family."

"What do you know of my family?"

"Oh!" He let out a shrill giggle, which was rather disturbing considering it was coming from a grown man. She watched as he clapped his hands in glee. "So many secrets to tell, but unfortunately I cannot tell them. Pity, pity, pity—it'd ruin you," his smile turned dark. "And I have a mission to accomplish, which means _you_ have to go back to sleep. Can't have my boss thinking I'm going to follow through with her plan—ha! That'd make _me_ look predictable."

"B-Back to sleep?" Siarya stammered as she stumbled backwards. Her back met a trunk of a tree. The bark felt unnatural, rough, and dried out—dead, she realized. The tree was dead. "Who is your boss?"

"You see, child, _my_ job is save you from the bridge—which I did—and then take you back to the Drovanian Castle, safe and sound, just like how it was supposed to be," he explained, ignoring her questions. "Once we get there, your beloved fiancé will be notified of your most convenient arrival, and then you'll marry him and save the Kingdoms, all that fun stuff. But the thing is, I'm supposed to wait until the King hears of your kidnapping—because when you don't arrive right away, he'll think you stood him up, yeah?—so when you're finally brought to the Castle as a survivor of assassination, he'd see the Royal sigil sewn into your cloak, proving you're the Princess, and he'd take you back in with open arms, with no hard feelings. But then I thought to myself, that'd be just _boring._ So I'm doing it my way."

Siarya glanced down at the sigil on her cloak; it was a picture of a shield and a crown, shaped like a ring. She remembered her mother's words: _Whatever you do, don't take this off._ Had she known about this?

"What is your way?" Siarya croaked out.

The man grinned again, teeth baring, his eyes glinting in the dark like a predator in the shadows, and immediately Siarya wanted to run from him again. But as he stepped forward, she found her legs couldn't move. He spoke to her then, deep and raspy, "That's for you to find out."

Heart racing in her ears, Siarya snapped out of her stupor, and automatically lunged to the side. But he was quicker and his arms wrapped around her torso, dragging her backwards. She struggled, letting out a scream, but then she felt the bitter rag pressed up against her face, again, and she couldn't breathe.

The last thing she heard was the sound of his breathing against her ear. Then she was lost.

~.~

Siarya felt herself dozing in and out of consciousness in an undetectable period of time, although she was sure the darkness of Drovania never seemed to help with the hours. Vaguely, through the sharp pounding of her head, everything besides the pain felt as though she were being carried like a sack of potatoes.

She moaned and squirmed slightly, but whoever was holding her had a steel grip. It wasn't long before blackness engulfed her once more.

When she awoke, she was being dragged by two men. The metallic sounds of their attire and the scabbards that hung in the corner of her eye convinced her that they were guards.

So the mysterious man had brought her to the Castle after all.

"Anybody important?"

"Nah, just a little urchin. No point tellin' the King that another wasp has crossed into our lands."

"I dunno. Look at her clothes. She looks wealthy."

"All Sephorians dress like that, Gregory."

"Why don't you ask her yourself?" She heard her kidnapper's voice and her heart fluttered, although she didn't dare raise her head.

"Ask her?" A man spoke up from somewhere off to her left. "Are you off your rocker? She's unconscious."

Suddenly she felt a hand grasp a clump of her hair and pull her head back painfully. Siarya gasped, and her kidnapper remarked slyly, "No she's not."

At his words, she let her eyes open to see four faces glowering down upon her, one of their hands staying tangled in her hair. Their skin, were all shades of grey, black, and dim copper. Onyx markings decorated their arms and necks, slipping out from under their aphotic clothes, scaled as if skinned from a reptile. Pieces of armor adorned their appearance, including scabbards and hilts of iron swords. They were muscular and obviously well trained.

They were Drovanians.

The urge to scream suddenly bubbled up in Siarya's throat, but she choked on it when she felt the sharp point of a short sword press against her jugular. Her eyes traveled from her kidnapper, who was still garbed in his muddy, masked attire, to the guard threatening her with his weapon. Her breath was coming out in quick pants—a part of her brain acknowledged the fact that she was probably hyperventilating—and whatever her kidnapper had done to her had left her weak, the only thing keeping her somewhat standing were the guards holding her by her arms. The guard's black mustache twitched when he spoke, "Guess the wench thinks she's clever, eh?"

"P-Please," she whimpered. She could feel her entire body trembling. She looked around and saw she was in a stone, empty courtyard. It was as dark as midnight. "Please, I'm—I'm—"

_I'm the Princess! _She wanted to cry out. But when she peered down, she saw that her cloak had been removed. Her Royal sigil was gone.

Something hard and metallic smashed against the side of her head, knocking her to the side. Someone had struck her with the hilt of their sword. She let out a wail of pain as her skull throbbed. The attacker, one of the other guards, then said, "Shut it. We don't like trespassers in our land, missy, no matter how small you are."

"Please," she said again, tears streaming down her cheeks. "It's a m-misunderstanding, I beg of you. I-I'm the P-Princess—"

They let out a roar of laughter. "Princess? Yeah, _right. _And I'm the fucking King—where's my crown?"

"I'm telling the truth!" She persisted. They wouldn't listen to her. They only laughed more.

"You know where to take her." A guard said to the man holding a sword to Siarya's throat. The two guards and her kidnapper turned away from Siarya, still chucking to themselves. The fourth and last guard stayed with her, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her up from the floor painfully.

Siarya's eyes flitted to her kidnapper desperately. She began to struggle against the Drovanian guard, tears wetting her face, blood drizzling from her head wound. She screamed at him, "_You know who I am!_ You _know_ I'm telling the truth! I'm the Princess! I was sent here, and my carriage was attacked! Please, you have to believe me. You've _got_ to believe me!"

Her kidnapper turned to face her, eyes glinting. "Sorry, little lass. I don't speak to white-winged wasps."

"No," Siarya whispered. The guard began to pull her back, and she struggled more. "No! You can't do this! _No!"_

He didn't reply. Instead, he turned away from her and began to follow the two other guards, who were watching with amused expressions. Their faces were distorted with scars and blackened marks, and suddenly Siarya couldn't think of anything uglier than their faces. She was in the Kingdom of abominations, alone, and accused of trespassing. She was without her identity and therefore without power. These Drovanian _monsters _were taking her away, and she could do absolutely nothing.

Where would the guard take her? A pulse of fear passed through her as she fought against the guard's strong hold—she had to get away. She had to find someone who would listen to her. She had to find—

A sudden punch to her jaw snapped her head to the side, taking Siarya's breath away. Something cold and rough pressed against the skin of her palms, and she realized she was lying on the ground. Thoughts jumbled, tears filled her eyes. Not from fear, but from pain. She gingerly touched her bruising face with her fingertips.

She'd_ never_ been punched before.

The guard's face loomed over her as he knelt to the ground. His eyes were a piercing blue, reminding Siarya of the Sephorian sky. Her heart twisted. His expression, however, was full of malice, and it seeped out of him as he spoke, "If you struggle, wasp, then I'll fucking kill you. Got it?"

Siarya hiccupped and nodded. Then he was grabbing her arm again, harsh and painful, and he pulled her up from the ground like she was a rag-doll.

She didn't know where he was taking her. She didn't know how if word has spread that she had been kidnapped. Would her mother send troops into Drovania? Certainly that would cause chaos. What would the Drovanian King do? Would he care?

Was _he_ behind this? Her kidnapper had said something about someone hiring him to kidnap her. But she wasn't supposed to be killed—she was supposed to be safely taken to the Drovanian Castle as the Princess. Instead, her kidnapper had taken her to the Castle as a prisoner. She couldn't understand how this helped him. He betrayed his boss, or whoever hired him, Siarya knew that now.

The person who hired him must've cared for her somehow, if they wanted her safe. Why else would they want to supposedly "rescue" her from the bridge?

That was another question she didn't understand. How could there be something under the large bridge between Kingdoms, hiding in the Dark? There are legends of monsters down there, but surely none of them cared for her. She was a Princess, yes, but undoubtedly no concern to the supernatural world.

Her kidnapper had told her that she was to be taken the moment her carriage entered the bridge. But by who? And _why?_

And how could he have known?

The guard jerked her forward into a stone hallway, moving them indoors. The hallway felt like she was staring into a tunnel, where the exit was shrouded with blackness. The only source of light were the metal sconces on the wall, the small flames throwing shadows along the walls. The air was no less cold than the air outside, and she was already shivering. Her skin prickled in unease. The guard's grip on her arm was beginning to throb.

It was silent other than their footsteps as the guard dragged her farther into the Castle. She couldn't help but speak softly, hope sticking in her mind as she gazed at the Drovanian's face, taut and stoic. "Please, sir. I mean you no disrespect."

He didn't reply. He didn't even look at her.

"Sir," she said again slowly. "I know that I am Sephorian, and I know that you don't like me. But you have to believe me—my name is Siarya Renette. I am the daughter of King Sanctus and Queen Genevieve, and I was supposed to meet your King—"

An animalistic snarl ripped from the guard's throat as he turned on her, his hands clutching her arms, eyes glaring wildly into hers. "Even if what you're saying were true," he spat, baring his teeth. Siarya noticed that his canine teeth were jagged and sharp. "I would give _anything _to slit the throat of a Sephorian Princess. Royal white-winged blood is more valuable than any amount of gold the Gods can give me. You see my point, little one?"

Siarya's breath halted in her throat as she frantically nodded. Her fingers curled up into fists. "Y-Yes, I s-s-see—"

He pulled her towards him sharply before pushing her forward, causing her to stumble. "Move it," he growled. "I don't have all night."

Whimpering, Siarya began to shuffle forward, the guard steering her from behind. She walked with a blurry vision, almost blinded from her tears. She could feel warm blood drying on the side of her face. Her head pounded like she'd been trampled by a dozen horses, and she couldn't tell if it was due to her kidnapper's strange poison or that she had been beat up.

_I'm going to die here,_ she thought. This could be the last few moments of her life slipping through her fingers. At that very idea, she breathed in the cold air, taking it all in so that it filled her lungs. She didn't know how much time she had left. What did Drovanians do to Sephorians who trespass in their land?

Torture?

"In here," the guard spoke suddenly, shaking Siarya from her thoughts. He shoved her forward into a narrow, winding staircase leading downwards. The stairs were covered with something slimy, as if they were entering the sewers. A faint putrid smell wafted through the air and the sound of shouting and clinking metal echoed along the walls. When Siarya hesitated, the guard pushed her again. "Don't _make_ me tell you again, wasp."

Swallowing dryly, she let herself be lead down the staircase. The stairs were steep and slippery from muck, but the guard didn't relent, even when Siarya nearly slipped. It took a few minutes to reach the end, where a metal door resided. There was a small window near the top of the door, covered in stone bars. The guard pulled out a pair of keys and swiftly unlocked the door, maneuvering Siarya inside.

"Oi!" He called out, dragging Siarya forward with a harsh grip. She looked around the room, but it was so dark that she couldn't see more than five feet in front of her. The sound of chains rattled in the air, and it stunk of decay. Peering down, she saw that the ground was cobblestone, where trickles of tainted water streamed through the dented cracks. There were voices calling out, men and women, with unintelligible cries and moaning, causing shivers to run up her spine. She couldn't see where they were coming from.

"_Oi!"_ Her guard shouted again, this time more loudly. His voice echoed. "I've got another one over here!"

A man appeared from the shadows. He was Drovanian too, but much older, with wrinkled skin stretched across his face, and old bloodshot eyes. He wore a black cloak that draped over his head and shoulders, but she could see he was hunch-backed, and that he moved with a limp. His obsidian wings were tattered and uncared for, his feathers sticking out at odd angles. In his hand was a lantern, and when he smiled, his pointed rotten teeth gleamed in the light.

"What do we have here?" He spoke, his voice raspy and broken. He tilted his head at Siarya, smile frozen. "A sweet little Sephorian? How nice. Very nice."

"Take me to the south wing, Barnabas. We're putting her there." The guard directed towards the old man named Barnabas. He nodded, his gnarled smile twitching, his lantern swaying as he hobbled away. Siarya felt herself be pushed after him.

The walk was slow and dark. Soon, the corridors became narrower and Siarya could see barred doors situated on either side. Flashes of glimmering eyes met hers from behind the rusted doors. Dirtied fingers curled around the bars, stretching out towards her soundlessly. Her skin prickled at the brush of their fingertips, cold and distant, like the dead reaching from beyond the grave.

Siarya knew where she was being taken to, now. They were going to lock her up.

She halted in her steps.

She was _not _going to be forced into imprisonment due to some Drovanian kidnapper. She was a _Princess,_ for Gods' sake. She had some dignity.

Her guard smacked the back of her head, and Siarya nearly bit her tongue off. "Who said you could stop walking?"

Suddenly furious, Siarya spun on the guard and spat, "My fiancé, the King of Drovania, will be very unhappy to hear that his betrothed is to be locked up in a dungeon. As Royalty, you have no right to treat me with such disrespect. I have been manhandled, beaten, attacked, and threatened by you, and don't you dare think that I—"

An abrupt blow to her cheek sent Siarya crashing against the stone wall. Her vision spun and blackened for a few seconds, and she could taste blood in her mouth. Regret whirled in her mind.

The guard didn't stop. He grabbed her then, pulling her from the wall, and dragged her into the nearest cell. The old man, Barnabas, followed with his frozen smile. Siarya could hear him rasping out, "Not the south wing, sir. We go to south wing? This is west wing. West wing is good too."

"I've changed my mind, Barnabas," the guard growled. He was panting slightly as Siarya struggled, punching and scratching at him, but it was to no affect. Unfazed, he pressed her up against the back of the prison cell to the point where the stone dug into her cheek. A pair of manacles hung above her, just underneath a small barred window. "This cell will do."

Siarya began to scream. Long, ear-splitting cries for help. The guard ignored her and grasped her wrists, shackling them both in the manacles. They were cold and heavy against her skin, and she automatically began to pull at them wildly. She was still facing the wall, the stone just inches from touching her nose.

"Scream, scream, little girl," the guard hissed in her ear as he began to fumble with the back of her dress. He cut the strings of her corset with his blade, digging into the fabric underneath, and suddenly she could feel a blast of cold air collide against the stretch of her back. He tore it open wider with fingers before leaning in again, his breath against her cheek from behind, "This'll teach you to behave, you self-righteous bitch."

His touch disappeared behind her, and she heard him speak again, but to Barnabas, "Give me the whip."

The whip? Siarya's heart stopped_. "No!"_

She writhed against the hold of the manacles, but no avail. Tears slid down her face as she begged, but the guard didn't respond to her. She couldn't see anything but the stone wall, and the starless black sky taunting her from the tiny window above.

And then there was a silencing _crack._

Siarya could feel where the whip struck her. It was just over her spine, between her bound wings—the very sensation of it felt numb. Then there was another, sharp and quick. And another. And another. It sounded like lightning.

Then the numbness began to falter, and the lashes started to _burn._ Her body shuddered as the searing pain of the whippings set her entire back on fire, one lash after another, never ending. Her eyes filled with tears as she cried out, each whipping jutting her forward against the stone wall, again, and again, and again. She felt like she was being flayed alive. She could feel her skin splitting open. Blood tickled the backs of her calves as her broken flesh bled. Ruby, spider-webbed lines branched across her back, painting the whip red as the guard continued relentlessly.

_Crack!_

Siarya eventually lost her voice. She buried her face into her forearms and gritted her teeth, concentrating hard not to break down in front of him. Not to curl inside and sob like a child. The whippings kept coming, thick and fast, raining down from the shoulder blades to the slope of her lower back. She closed her eyes and they burned from the tears fighting to slip from behind, and it took all of her willpower not to pass out.

_Crack!_

She moaned, and her legs gave out from underneath. The only thing keeping her upright were the shackles hanging from the wall, tightly wound around her wrists. Her entire back was smoldering hot and itchy. The air smelled of blood.

Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the guard talking. She turned her head just slightly to see him giving the bloodied whip to Barnabas, whose eyes were alight with glee. Then the guard sent one last scorching glare and smiled at her, sickly sweet, before turning on his heels and disappearing from the room.

Barnabas was still grinning as he stood there, watching Siarya hang from the manacles, blood streaming from her back. He stared for many moments before slowly hobbling over, his mottled hand reaching to grab a tuft of her hair. He ran his trembling fingers through her blonde locks and hummed, "Pretty hair. Barnabas likes pretty hair," he leaned in and smelled the clump of hair in his hand, and Siarya bit back a whimper. "Pretty girls smell good. Barnabas likes that."

Siarya turned her head away from him. He let go of her hair and coughed, wet and loud, as he stumbled out of her view and towards the prison cell door. She heard the watery sound of spit hitting the ground, and then the wail of the metal door closing shut.

"Barnabas be back," the old man called out to her. The noise of a key locking the door rang out in the darkness. "Barnabas won't leave pretty girl alone for too long."

His voice faded as black spots began to engulf Siarya's vision. Her skull throbbed and her wounds burned. Silence touched her, and she was left to her pain.


	11. Hummingbird

**Chapter Ten**

**Hummingbird**

Each time Siarya awoke, she became reminded of her situation. But there was always a few small, significant seconds where she'd forget everything—the fact that she was chained to a wall, that her wrists hurt from the shackles, that her upper body ached from being held up all day and night. And those little moments became her time of peace, and she learned to crave it. It distracted her from the wounds covering her back. They itched and festered, and her fingers twitched at the urge to scratch, but she knew that even if she could, it'd be unbearable just to try to move.

She couldn't believe this had happened to her. It felt like a dream, where the very idea of being kept in Drovania was surreal. Perhaps it was because she'd been unconscious when she was brought in. She had been in Sephoria, safe and sound, and then all of a sudden, she was locked up in a prison cell where the Stars don't shine.

And she was_ really _hungry. She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten anything, and she couldn't tell if days were passing since the black sky taunting her outside the window never changed. At some point, the wind trickling past the bars become colder, kissing her bruised skin with ice, and she figured that it must be night time. Hours would pass in shadows, and she was forced into lonely solitude. Barnabas would pass by the cell door sometimes, and she could usually hear the shuffling of his limp traveling down the hallway, until he'd stop in front of her door. Then he'd stare at her for a while, staying silent other than the sound of his long ragged breaths. Sometimes he'd say something, like "Pretty girl still hanging?" with his voice tainted with glee, as if Siarya had forgotten she was chained up and she needed reminding.

Other times, Barnabas didn't say anything. He'd just stare at her and then leave.

Time dragged on and on. Siarya hung in silence, sometimes staring at the blank world outside, but mostly studying the stone wall in front of her. The very sight of the onyx skies looming over her made her shudder, its gaze upon her heavy and thick, and she desperately wished to see a hint of a Star-rise, of pink and gold rays, just like in Sephoria. To hear the singing of birds as they flitted from tree to tree. To feel the warmth of the Sephorian Star on her face.

She missed it.

Hours left her behind. There was no way of counting how many passed her. No amount of tears, misery, or scorching pain could distract her from the time.

She wondered if anyone would rescue her.

She wondered if anyone knew she was gone.

The sky remained dark. As another chilly breeze engulfed her, Siarya realized she had never felt so alone.

~.~

At some point, the hunger numbed. The only thing left was a gnawing pain in her stomach. Her arms were trembling from the strain of the shackles, but when she tried to relieve herself—pulling at the chains—a wave of dizziness stung her from the small action. She felt faint and her breath was shallow, no matter how deep she breathed. She had no idea how long she'd been locked up. It had to be days.

She became lost to slumber at random times. Or maybe she was simply passing out from malnutrition. She couldn't tell—she'd never been starved before.

When a small, faint_ buzz_ emanated from the window, Siarya thought she was imagining it. The days had been so silent other than Barnabas's rasping voice. Then there was a soft chirping sound and she furrowed her brows, awaking from her tired stupor. She licked her dry, chapped lips, and remembered that the guard had given her a split lip from one of his punches.

_Cheerp! _The noise squeaked. Siarya rose her head, eyelids drooped. She could see a flash of gold and violet through her blurry vision. She blinked a few times for focus, and a hummingbird came into view.

The hummingbird fluttered there between the bars of the window. Its head was tilted questioningly. Its feathers looked soft and gleaming, obviously well-groomed, with tints of green, gold, and purple. In its tiny, clawed foot was a chunk of something. The bird studied Siarya, and she found that she couldn't move under its gaze.

_I have to be hallucinating, _Siarya thought as she stared into the eyes of the hummingbird. She kept expecting it to fly away, to become disinterested and leave her behind in her dark solitude, but it didn't move. The bird just levitated there.

"You're not real," Siarya murmured, tearing her eyes away from the bird by ducking her head towards the floor. It was the first time she'd spoken in days. Her throat felt dry and cracked. "Birds like you can't exist in Drovania… s'no life here for you…"

The bird chirped again sweetly. The buzz of its wings shifted as the bird darted through the bars to shove itself into Siarya's face. She jutted head backwards, frowning, as the bird invaded her personal space. Her eyes zeroed in on the bird's foot carrying the mystery chunk of something. It was a pale yellow.

"What are you..?" Siarya began to ask—as if the bird could answer—but the moment she opened her mouth, the bird shot forward. Before she could protest, the bird dropped its object onto her tongue. Siarya lurched back, eyes widening in surprise and disgust, but froze when a beautiful taste cascaded over her tongue.

_Impossible, _she thought wildly. She bit into the chunk and juice spilled out, wetting her dry mouth, saturating it with its sweet and sour flavor. _It's apple!_

She chewed on the apple chunk, whirling the taste around her mouth. A small moan left her lips, and for the first time in days, she smiled. The bird chirped again, and Siarya's eyes flitted up to meet the birds. Her voice was soft when she asked, "How?"

The hummingbird tilted its head again. Suddenly, Siarya remembered with a shock, looking out the window of the Hollow, her childhood maids' voices singing in her head, everyday with the same words—_"There's that bird again. I think it favors you, Princess."_

"It's you," Siarya whispered. It was a hummingbird with emerald feathers, tinted with gold and royal purple. It was _the _hummingbird. An impossible, ridiculous idea, but Siarya knew it anywhere. The bird had been her friend and her playmate for a year and a half before her mother had forbidden the maids from opening the windows in the morning. "How are you here? Where did you come from?"

It chirped and stuttered its wings, hobbling in the air. It gave Siarya one last look before speeding out the window and disappearing into the darkness. She felt her heart fall as loneliness consumed her once again.

~.~

Siarya looked up to the sound of twittering. She opened her eyes, wide with hope, to see the hummingbird looming in front of her again, another mouth-watering apple chunk resting in its clawed foot. A grin spread across her face, "I thought you left. I didn't know if you'd come back or not."

The bird chirped and fluttered closer to her face. Siarya looked at the apple and opened her mouth—which was probably the strangest thing she's ever done, allowing a bird to feed her food that shouldn't exist in the barren lands of Drovania—but she needed it. Hallucinating or not, the small chunks of apple made her feel better. When the bird dropped the apple piece on her tongue, Siarya let out a contented sigh and chewed slowly, savoring the delicious taste.

"This is crazy," Siarya said to the bird, still grinning like a fool. The bird watched her contently. "How did you find me again? Why are you even helping me?"

_How _are you helping? Siarya wondered. Where was it getting the apple chunks?

She didn't expect the bird to answer, and it didn't. Instead it chirped and darted back into the cold, black world outside her prison cell. Each time it left, a solemn loneliness befell Siarya, and she'd be alone for another day. But eventually the bird would come back, and a light would spark inside her, a soft happiness—and each time, the hummingbird would bring her another apple chunk. No matter how small the chunks were, Siarya could feel her vitality coming back. Her hunger subsided and the itchiness of her wounds cooled, and she had never been so happy to be fed by a bird in her entire life.

~.~

She wakes to the sound of metal.

At first, she thought she was imagining it. Her prison cell had remained cold and silent for so long, other than the sweet twittering of the hummingbird. But when she heard the prison door open with a loud, shuddering creak, it was too vivid of a sound to make up.

Someone approached her from behind. She couldn't see them, but she could hear their boots against the gravelly floor. She didn't bother look up. It was probably Barnabas, wanting to touch her hair again.

Rough fingers touched the shackles wound tightly around her wrists. She opened her eyes in surprise when she felt the manacles shudder with the vibrations of a key turning, and suddenly she was falling to the floor—for the first time in days, her arms weren't strung up towards the ceiling, and her muscles burned in agony as they dropped to her sides. She let out a cry and her knees hit the stone floor. Before she could collapse, the person who released her caught her in their arms.

It was a man. He was wearing a leather coat, she could feel it under her fingertips as she knelt against him involuntarily. He smelled of dirt and blood.

"Don't struggle," he murmured. His voice sounded familiar. "Your body is very weak, and you will hurt yourself."

Siarya felt like her head was on fire. Her vision was blotched with darkness and she blinked, trying to focus. "Who are you?"

He was breathing hard like he had just won a race. She realized that her legs weren't working, and that she was being held up by his strength. He spoke kindly, "I'm a friend who's here to help you. Can you stand?"

She shook her head. "No, I don't think so."

"Okay, then you're going to have to lean on me." He said. Siarya finally looked up to see his face, only to be met by a pair of beautiful, amber eyes—like how whiskey looks in the light. He had thick, spiked gray hair that held streaks of white, and he looked as though he were in his fifties. His skin displayed the trademarks of a Drovanian; grey, marked, and a covered in scars. A ragged portion of his face was ripped down the right side, as if he'd been burned. A wave of nausea swept through her. At any other time, she would've screamed. But this felt like a dream, and her tongue was frozen.

He pulled Siarya's arm gently to rest around his neck. Together, they stood up from the floor. Not because she wanted to, but because her body didn't seem to be working.

"Why are you helping me?" She whispered. Fear pulsed under her skin. He wrapped his other arm around her waist, avoiding her exposed backside, as he begun to drag her out of the cell. "You're Drovanian."

"_Technically_ I'm not supposed to be here," he answered nonchalantly. His grip on her tightened. "But once I caught wind of the suspicion that you were locked up, I had to see for myself. I'm not exactly on good terms with the Drovanian King at the moment, but I thought it'd be worth it to rescue you."

"Why?"

"Because you're not the only one who's been a prisoner here," he replied. "And I know who you are."

Relief washed over her. Somebody in the Castle knew she was the Princess. And now he was saving her—just like she knew someone would, if they knew the truth.

"Does anybody else know I'm here?" Siarya couldn't help but ask, hopefully. "My parents? The King?"

The man didn't reply right away, almost as if he were distracted. He was silent for a long moment before he spoke, "Right now isn't the best time, darling."

"Please," she protested. Her fingers clenched into fists around his jacket. "I deserve to know."

"You've been locked up here for two weeks," he informed her, sounding slightly dismayed. They got to the mucky staircase, and that's where he lifted her up all the way to carry her up the stairs. She could feel the skin of her backside stretch, but it didn't seem to ache. "And a lot has happened. I can't tell you right now, though. But I promise that I'll explain everything later when we get you somewhere safe."

_Two weeks? _Siarya thought. Dread seeped into her. "My parents must be worried sick."

"Eh, something like that," the man grumbled. They reached a hallway on the upper floor, officially exiting the dungeons. Then the man began to run, Siarya coddled in his arms. His boots slapped against the stone, synchronized to her heart ramming against in chest. His words were muffled with hurried breath, "We don't have much time before somebody notices a prisoner's absence. They will send people after you."

"What will happen if they catch us?"

"Let's not think about that, shall we?" He replied lightly.

"Where are you taking me, then?"

"Away from here."

"But King Domonic needs to know that I'm here—he needs to know that I'm the Princess—"Siarya protested.

"Whoa, heh," the man let out a half-hearted chuckle. He stopped to lean against a wall, his hold on Siarya relaxing, as he rested to catch his breath. "That's the worst idea I've heard all day."

"But I came here for—"

"Diplomacy. Yeah, I know," he interrupted. "If you think King Domonic will spare you after one look at your pretty face, then you've got another thing coming to you. The only thing Domonic wants more than war is Sephorian Royalty dead on a platter."

"But he agreed to—"

"But this, but that… if you keep talking like this, I might just leave you here."

"How can I trust you?" Siarya blurted out. She looked him in the eye. "No Drovanian would want to rescue me from prison."

"And no Sephorian would want to lay in bed with a Drovanian King," he replied with a sly expression. He moved away from the wall and started to run again. "Guess we're all full of surprises, aren't we?"

Siarya couldn't find an answer to that.

A gust of cold wind smacked into Siarya from the side. The man turned, and together they saw a large, open window looming before them in the dark corridor. The sky outside was pitch black. The sound of horns blew in the distance, frighteningly loud, and then of voices. Voices of men, possibly in large numbers, echoing through the walls.

"Damn." The man hissed under his breath.

"What is it?" Siarya asked nervously.

"If someone's already sent out troops, they're definitely pissed," he answered her. He gave her a quick, charming smile, and his scars rippled like water. "Looks like you're special after all, Princess."

Siarya looked to the window, to the heavy onyx sky mocking her. "I…"

_I could go home, _she thought longingly. _I could forget about this place. About the plan of marriage. _

The man had said that Domonic wasn't interested in peace anyway. And the thought of home—the place of all beauty, warmth, and light—sent a jolt of anticipation through her. She wanted it.

Walking figures appeared a few feet in front of them. They stopped instantly in their tracks. Siarya looked over to see a group of men and women, tall and brutal, adorned with livid armor and razor sharp swords. The man holding Siarya cursed, stepping backwards frantically. The guards moved towards them with their weapons drawn.

And then they were running.

Siarya held on to the man's leather coat for dear life as the world around her became a blur. They were surrounded, she knew that. But the man kept going, turning to stumble down an open flight of stairs, narrowly missing the brush of a guard's dagger as they followed them with shouts. Her heart pumped against her ribs and her breath ran far from her lungs, even if she wasn't the one darting through the Drovanian Castle.

Then there was a split second of bliss where they were around a corner, where the guards couldn't see them. Immediately the man pulled her into the shadows, behind a curtain and a statue of a naked man.

"Stay here." He ordered. He stood up to leave.

"Wait—!" Siarya exclaimed in panic. But he was already gone.

There she crouched, listening to her raging heartbeat. _What am I supposed to do if they find me? _

She saw the guards appear then, like ghosts from an evil dream. She automatically shrunk further into the shadows, afraid to do anything else. They stood before her, and she knew that if they listened, they could hear her breathing. If they looked hard enough, they could find her in the dark.

"The wasp is gone."

"What do you mean she's gone?"

"She's not here."

A woman wearing armor paced down the corridor, tearing at curtains with her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. Her eyes were dark and set in determination, her expression contorted into a permanent frown. A man smashed a pedestal that had the shape of a human form. Siarya flinched at the noise. They were looking behind statues; they would find her if they came close.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," the woman called out. Her voice was deep and husky. "I can sense your fear, little girl."

Siarya sucked in her breath. Her hand smothered her mouth. One of the men turned abruptly, his eyes glaring into the corner from where she hid. His steely eyes met hers. Steadily he marched forward, his sword ready to strike—

A door slammed farther down the hallway.

The guards exchanged glances. "That's her."

"Let's move. Kill her on sight."

Their footsteps faded, moving downwards through the corridor. She knew if she left her spot, she would become visible if just one of them turned their head. But a voice in her head was urging her to move—they would come back the instant they realized that the door slammer wasn't her.

But her savior wasn't back yet. Where would she go? Should she wait for him?

What if he never comes back? _What then?_

Hesitantly, she silently stepped away from the shadows. Casting a quick glance at the guards, they stood down the hall at the doorway of some room. They were angry. They _knew_.

There wasn't enough time. Siarya spun around, searching for an exit. The only place she could go was up a flight of stairs on her left.

She darted out of the corridor when the guards began to turn back. Nearly toppling over to get up the stairs, she stopped at a landing that made her freeze. A large window loomed before her, made of painted stained glass with the figure of holy Airia with outstretched hands, as if welcoming her. She lurched forward, touching the cold surface of the window. Her breath fogged up the glass. It was incredibly large, and easy to crawl through. She peered down to see a latch that looked as though it hadn't been used in years.

She could open it and escape. She knew she could. There was only one problem—she couldn't remember how to fly.

Someone suddenly pulled her hair back and the blade of an axe was placed at her throat. She let out a cry of panic but it was muffled by a large, dirty hand.

"Make one move and you're dead." The voice was deep and loud, and it rumbled in the air like thunder. Siarya struggled, kicking up her feet, but the man's hold on her tightened. He was really strong.

He kicked the back of her feet, making her legs go out. She let out a sharp yelp as her knees met the ground. The axe pressed deeper into her throat from the fall, but he held her firmly. He forced a whimper out of her. "I heard there was a white-winged bitch running around. I didn't think I'd be the first to find her," he hissed into her ear, and she could feel his hot breath on her cheek from behind. His voice was joyful. "I'm sure the guards won't mind if I slit your throat first."

"P-Please d-d-don't," Siarya stammered as he began to squeeze the life out of her. Breathlessly, her words dripped with fear, "I-I just want to g-go h-home—"

"Yeah, I bet you do," he replied. He removed the axe at her throat to press her face-first into the ground. The stone dug into her skin painfully. "I bet you wish you never trespassed into Drovanian lands, little girl. But now you've gotta pay the price."

"I _didn't—"_

She stopped when he kicked her in the ribs, her back hitting the wall behind her. She felt them snap, and pain radiated through her body. He did it again, but this time it sent her flying down the staircase, tumbling down the stone steps. Dazed, she felt blood stream down her cheek from a searing ache from a gash at her forehead.

She looked up at him then. Her attacker was a gigantic, burly man with oily black hair that hung over his twisted, marred face. His torso and arms were thick with muscle, and he grinned at her, a strange raspy growl emanated from his throat. His wings were large and they loomed over his huge frame like a cobra about to strike, casting shadows over Siarya. His axe glinted in the light when he stepped forward. She could swear that she felt the ground shudder underneath him with every step he took.

She scrambled backwards, but he lunged forward and lifted her up with one arm, choking her. "Do you like what you see, little bird?"

Through quick breathes, she managed to spit out words that she'd never expect herself to say. "I've seen better."

He punched her, hard. For a moment, she saw stars. It was like quarreling with a giant, and she could taste blood in her mouth. He lifted his fist again for another punch, but the action was stopped when something silver caught in his hand.

Her attacker howled in pain as he stumbled backwards, clutching his bleeding hand. A dagger protruded from the center of his palm. He turned around to glare at the knife-thrower with violent eyes. _"You."_

Siarya turned to see her previous savior standing there, leaning against the wall, an amused expression on his face. He waved at Axe-man. "Hi."

Siarya managed to stand up, her eyes suddenly wide. She could feel new bruises were already forming from the areas she had been struck. Voices of men suddenly bounced off the walls of the nearby hallway downstairs. People were crashing through the hallways, their footsteps shaking the ground. They were coming so close that every part of her wanted to bolt. But she couldn't.

"How _dare_ you come back here after what you've done?!" Axe-man roared at the man. He pointed his weapon at him, but there wasn't an ounce of fear in the man's amber eyes. _"You are an abomination!"_

"I'm doing well, Klaus. How about you?" The man replied coolly. He began to twiddle with his dagger.

Axe-man, or Klaus, charged at Siarya's savior, trying to pummel him into the wall. The man side-stepped him easily. He turned to face Siarya with a frown, "I thought I told you to stay put."

"I—"Siarya stuttered. Her heart flipped in her chest when Klaus lunged at the man again. "Watch—!"

But the man was already expecting him, and he moved out of the way before Klaus's axe could touch him. Klaus let out a cry of frustration.

"Come on, big guy," the man said, flourishing his hand towards Siarya. "I'm trying to have a conversation here."

Klaus didn't listen. Instead, he swung his axe at the man's head, which he ducked away from. He swung again, and again, and again—each time, the man quickly evaded the blade, his body bending and stretching away at his every whim.

He didn't stop. She heard shouts from afar; guards were coming. The man seemed to notice this and did something that made Siarya's blood run cold—he plunged his dagger into Klaus's chest.

Klaus turned. His eyes bulged out, and his mouth slackened. A dark maroon flower bloomed in his shirt from the hole in his chest where the man had stabbed him. He staggered towards Siarya, grasping the dagger pointlessly before grabbing her hands in his own. He to his knees, drawing in quick breaths as he moaned words, his eyes digging into hers with such hatred that it made her skin crawl. _"_You're a_ savage."_

He let go of her hands. Siarya's fingers were painted with a bright, luminous red. His blood. He collapsed to the ground in front of her as she stared at him, and suddenly she could see the dead man in the Winged Tavern, his throat slit by the Drovanian man, his body seizing on the ground.

Her vision began to blacken. "I…"

Her hands were red.

Siarya heard a man's furious shout. She looked at the dagger, still stuck in his chest.

"—we have to go, sweetheart."

She peered up to look at the man kneeling before her. She hadn't realized she was on the ground. His expression was calm, collected—he looked fine.

He'd just killed a man, and he looked_ fine._

She couldn't breathe.

_"Siarya,"_ she could hear her name being called. "Look at me, child—"

Everything began to blur. _Why did he kill Klaus_? She knew that'd destroy all hopes of an alliance between Kingdoms—

But Domonic didn't want peace. Or so the man said…

"Pay attention, little one," the man called out to her. His voice sounded distant. It was too much. "Don't—"

She blacked out.


	12. Runaway

**Chapter Eleven**

**Runaway**

Something sweet tickled Siarya's nose, stirring her from her sleep. The air smelled of unfamiliar spices and incense. She curled into herself and winced at the aching feeling of her body, suddenly being reminded that she had been beaten. A cold sweat settled on her skin as she willed the dull ache in her head to go away. It hurt so much as to breathe.

Then everything flooded back to her.

She opened her eyes with a jolt. Heart racing, she twisted, rolling over towards the sound of something bubbling. She stilled, realizing that this place definitely wasn't the dungeons. She was in a tent. She was also laying on a makeshift bed covered in a soft quilt. Random furniture cluttered the area, crammed into the space like books on a shelf. A pot of what appeared to be soup was simmering in the corner where a woman stood, humming a song as she stirred the substance with a wooden spoon. Her back was to Siarya, but she could see that she had long, reddish hair and wide hips that swayed to her song. Her wings were tucked against her back, but she could see, clear as day, that they were white wings—which meant she was Sephorian.

_Am I back in Sephoria?_ Siarya wondered.

This couldn't be real.

One lantern lit up the tent with an orange glow, hanging from the top where the tent peaked. There was another bed made of plush pillows and wool blankets that sat on the other end of the tent, looking as though it was often used. A canopy of violet cloth hung over the bed for a little privacy. An intricate maroon rug covered the floor making the tent seem as if it were actually a room. Stacks of pillows and books lay around to fill the open spaces as they leaned against a few end-tables.

The woman didn't look at Siarya when she spoke, her voice gentle and kind, "There are only two beds, but I figured I'd let you stay. I'll find a way to organize a third bed somewhere in this clutter."

Siarya's eyes flitted back to the woman. She rose to her elbows only to nearly fall back from the pain in her ribs. The woman noticed her sound of pain, and moved quickly to Siarya's side. "Careful," she warned, her fingertips brushing Siarya's arms. Her long hair draped over them both. She smelled sweet. "You've been through a lot."

The woman's face was oval-shaped and pretty. Her skin was light porcelain, decorated with faint ivory markings, with a light blush on her cheeks. She looked to be in her forties, but her hazel eyes sparkled with life. Siarya sucked in a breath as she stared at her in puzzlement, her throat feeling raw and dry, "W-Who are you?"

"My name is Alana," she replied with a small smile. Her expression grew concerned and she reached towards Siarya again, "Are you sure you're okay? Are you hungry?" She motioned to the soup simmering in the corner. "I have food if you want some."

"I…" Siarya looked around again. She could see a sliver of darkness poking out from the opening of the tent. The sound of talking emanated from outside, followed by men's laughter. Her stomach growled. _Food_. "Yes, please."

Alana walked back over to the soup to stir it, and then pour it into a bowl with a long ladle. "It's mostly elk, but I managed to put some roots in there. Should be hardy enough, for a soup."

"Roots?" Siarya asked as Alana handed her the bowl. It felt nice and hot against her hands, and she shivered. Her mouth watered at the smell. It muddled her thoughts.

"Sometimes, if you're lucky, you can find the roots of what used to be alive deep in the ground. They still hold a little goodness in them," Alana smiled warmly as she poured her own soup. "They're nice for tonics, too. It would be wonderful if such roots weren't so hard to find."

"Hard to find?" Siarya inquired numbly, sensing the worst. "Where am I, exactly?"

Alana picked at her soup slowly. She glanced at Siarya, "Drovania, sweetie."

Disappointment fell upon Siarya in a dark wave. She stared at her soup solemnly, feeling the heat of the steam brushing her face. "I thought that maybe…"

"That maybe you were back in Sephoria?" Alana asked, sending Siarya a sympathetic look. Her wings fluttered sadly. "I'm sorry. It's because I'm Sephorian, isn't it?"

"I don't understand," Siarya said exasperatedly. "If—if you're Sephorian, then why are you in Drovanian lands? Who are you, exactly? Why am I here? I was—"

"You're in a rebel camp inside the Sosoris Forest in Drovania. I am one of the people who reside here. We're on the border of Vortrea, the capital where the Castle resides. It's like the Drovanian version of Eloraia, if you're unfamiliar with the geography…"Alana explained, trailing off quietly. She spoke again, "Eat your food, sweetheart. You look like you might faint."

Siarya looked down at her soup. It was brown, with chunks of meat floating in the broth. It didn't look like much, but it smelled heavenly. "I don't know what to say."

"Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere. But you need to eat," Alana nodded at the bowl. "Your body has suffered great damage. I managed to fix you up just fine, but you've got to shoulder some of the work yourself, dear. That means you need to take care of yourself."

Siarya relented, finally taking a bite of the soup. The hot broth seeped into her tongue, filling her insides with such warmth it made her skin prickle in delight. She chewed the meat, and suddenly she couldn't stop herself—she shoveled the elk meat into her mouth, bite after bite, relishing in the savory taste of the broth and the gamey texture of the elk. Her stomach growled in pleasure as the food settled.

Alana, who was blowing the heat off of her bowl, looked up casually, only to give Siarya a double-take. Her eyes widened, "Child! Don't choke yourself!"

Siarya could hardly force herself to slow down. She couldn't help it—she couldn't recall when the last time was where she had real food. She continued eating, ignoring everything for the time being. When she finished off the soup, she peered up to Alana hopefully. "Can I have another?"

"Certainly," Alana complied before standing up to refill Siarya's bowl. She handed it back to her, eyes warm. "When was the last time you ate?"

"Aside from some apple?" Siarya asked as she attacked the soup. Her entire body was beginning to feel content. "Two weeks ago."

Siarya then paused, spoon suspended in the air, as her own words made her freeze. The man in the dungeons, her savior, had said it was two weeks. How long could someone go without eating food? She knew she hadn't been fed at all during her time in the Drovanian dungeons, aside from the hummingbird's help… could someone survive two weeks without food or water?

Speaking of the mysterious savior, _where was he?_ Siarya wondered. He must've brought her here, to this rebel camp. Yet, the only person present was a strange woman who seemed happy enough to feed Siarya.

Which was definitely fine, Siarya decided.

"Two weeks?" Alana inquired. Her face grew ashen with concern. She frowned, "I can't believe it. You could've died, if you hadn't…" she blinked, as if realizing something. "Did you say apple?"

Siarya couldn't help but grimace. The thing with the hummingbird was that she _still _wasn't sure if she had hallucinated the bird or not. Maybe she was so starved that the apple pieces had been a part of her imagination. She relayed this to Alana, who listened quietly, a deep expression of puzzlement on her face.

For a woman she just met, Alana seemed to be so concerned over what Siarya had to say. About what she's been through. Why did she care?

Who _was_ this woman?

Alana shook her head. "It's impossible," she said finally. "_Maybe_ if you were being kept in the borders of Drovania, _maybe_ there'd be a chance of an astray hummingbird flying around. _Maybe_ there'd be a chance of finding a piece of an apple. But Vortrea, the capital of the Kingdom, locked in the deepest pits of the Dungeon? It's simply impossible. It just can't happen."

"I don't know anything," Siarya replied blandly. That's all she had to say as she shoveled more soup into her mouth. Soon, she was finished with the soup just like the last bowl. She looked up at Alana, "More?"

Alana hummed in affirmation and filled Siarya another bowl. She watched as Siarya ate, a little slower this time, before saying cautiously, "Our leader will want to speak with you."

"Leader?" Siarya asked in curiosity. "Who's that?"

"He's the man who saved you." Alana replied.

Siarya peered up in surprise. She had almost, _almost_ forgotten about the recent events at the Castle. Of course, the escape from prison, the vision of death flitting across her vision, bloody and vivid as ever—it was all still there, in the back of her mind. But Alana's words brought it all back in a heavy wave, the memories colliding against her brain in dread.

She let the soup bowl rest softly on her lap as she tried to find the right words to say. Alana, noticing her change of demeanor, spoke sympathetically, "I heard there were complications getting you out of the Castle. Are you okay?"

"Your leader, he…"Siarya grimaced. She didn't know if she should feel grateful or disturbed. "He killed somebody right in front of me, and he didn't even flinch."

Alana grew somber, and she opened her mouth to speak—but was interrupted by another familiar voice. "Big talk for a Sephorian Royal, don't you think?"

They looked over to see the man who had rescued Siarya from the dungeons. He was wearing different clothes, but he still wore the same leather coat from before. Siarya's stomach flipped as she thought of him plunging his knife into Klaus's chest. She hadn't really known the man, and she certainly didn't wish him well considering he tried to kill her, but something about his death didn't sit right with her. Something about his killer, her _savior_, didn't seem normal.

Alana sighed and spoke, "Azariel, you've come at a bad time."

"Bad time?" The man—Azariel? Was that his name?—asked incredulously. He pointed at Siarya. "She's awake, isn't she?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"Great!" Azariel clapped his hands. "Then she can speak."

"What do you want with me?" Siarya blurted out. She suddenly felt very self-conscious. Alana froze, glancing between her and Azariel, looking almost uncomfortable. Siarya's hold on the soup bowl tightened when his amber gaze fell upon her.

"What do you want for yourself?" He asked her, his mouth quirking into a coy smile. "You've got a lot of nerve to murder a man in cold blood."

_What?_ She blanched. "I didn't—?"

"Klaus, my dear. The news has been spreading like wildfire. I must say, it's just _scandalous."_

Siarya wracked her memory. What was he talking about? "I didn't—_you_ did! You killed Klaus!"

"That's not what King Domonic believes," Azariel said slowly. He paused, observing her reaction. "Klaus Morgenstern was a good friend of the King's, too. He's not a very happy lad right now. _Especially_ since he discovered your real identity not too long ago."

"He…"Siarya tilted her head, brows furrowing in confusion. Her eyes widened in realization, and then in rage. _"No,"_ she seethed. She sat up abruptly from the bed, the bowl falling to the floor with a clatter, her fists clenched tight. "It's not true!"

Azariel—finally she knew her savior's name—had been the one to plunge the knife into Klaus's heart. _He_ had been the one to watch him die, unfazed by murder, as Siarya struggled to keep herself from breaking down in front of a dying man. She'd watched Klaus fall to his knees, his bloody hands encompassing hers, and she had seen the light go out in his eyes. But _she _wasn't the one who killed him.

And if King Domonic thought she did? Well, that'd be treason. She was his fiancée, but the marriage proposition would be torn to shreds. The entire purpose of being sent to Drovania would be pointless—and none of it was Siarya's fault. None of it!—because these things were happening to _her_—she had been the one who was kidnapped! _She_ was the one who was brought ignorantly to the Drovanian dungeons and tortured! _She_ did everything she was told!

It wasn't _her_ fault!

How far had the information gone? Did her parents know about it already? Did they _believe_ it?

_"You_ killed him," Siarya gritted out. She glared at him with all her might, but he just stood there calmly, his arms crossed, a glib expression on his face. "How dare you accuse me of murder? How _dare _you?!"

"You've darkened your Royal heart now, haven't you? A Princess of light giving into her real side. I wonder how deep she'll dive..." Siarya's bones became rigid and her heart squeezed at his words. He continued on despite her fury. "You've must have felt it when I plunged my dagger into his heart… The want, the need to do it yourself. To show him no mercy for the actions he would've done upon you. To be feared by something so big, and so powerful, with such ease—"

"Azariel." Alana reprimanded, her hazel eyes now a cold tone.

"How else will this girl—so much like us—survive?" He bellowed at her as Alana shrunk away, as if ashamed she had spoken. "She's alone in this world, just like you. Just like me."

Alana stared at him silently.

"I—I'm not alone," Siarya declared angrily. "I have a family. And whatever _mess_ you've gotten me into, they're going to take me out of it!"

"Don't blame me for this mess of politics, sweetheart," Azariel scolded her. His face darkened and he uncrossed his arms, taking a few steps toward where Siarya stood. "It's true that I murdered the man. You're right. I did it because he was about to kill you—and that wouldn't have helped anybody. But I wasn't the one with blood on my hands. _You_ were."

"Blood?" Siarya, out of instinct, glanced down at her hands. She realized with a jolt that there was dried blood under her fingernails. Her heart dropped to her stomach, suddenly remembering how Klaus had touched her, his blood soaking her hands.

_Oh._

"I make clean kills. I don't get blood on myself. Klaus's body was in front of you when the guards came, and you were the one with blood on your hands. It didn't matter if you fainted or not, which, by the way, thanks for that. It made everything much easier when trying to escape," Azariel continued on, sarcasm dripping from his words. "It didn't matter if the dagger came from me. Klaus was in front of you, dead, and you were the one who they assumed did the dirty work. It's not _my_ fault the big oaf decided to rub his filth all over your palms, is it?"

Panic began to set in as Siarya spoke, "But _I _didn't kill him!"

"Theyyy doooon't caaaaarrre!" Azariel shouted at her. She clamped her mouth shut. "_You're_ the Sephorian,_ I'm _the Drovanian convict. They may hate me, but they hate you more. Especially when eye-witnesses connected the pieces, and realized that you were the Princess. Now you're definitely in trouble."

"I didn't do anything wrong! I was kidnapped!"

"Yes, but King Domonic isn't exactly right in the head. He's not going to listen to logic. All he knows is that you never showed up at the Castle, and that bruised his ego. He thinks you stood him up. But now, you've been sighted running around his property, killing his good friends. He's not going to ask how, or why—he's going to just assume you don't mean well. To him, you're a traitor."

Siarya's legs fell out from behind her, and she hit the bed with a new sensation of hopelessness. Shoulders drooping, she spoke very quietly, "If the King believes that I betrayed him, this won't mean well for my Kingdom. How long has he known of my identity?"

"Oh, about a week and a half," Azariel answered bluntly. He didn't seem remotely bothered. "Enough time to declare war on Sephoria, _again. _Rather redundant of him, if you ask me._"_

"Oh Gods…" Siarya groaned, covering her face with her hands. "This is all wrong. It was never supposed to go this way. What about my parents?"

"Azariel," Alana spoke up warningly. Both Siarya and Azariel looked at her. Her expression was stern, _worried _even. "She needs rest."

"She doesn't need rest, woman, she needs _answers!"_ He spat back at her. She shook her head, aggravated, as Azariel's eyes flitted back to Siarya. "Royalty's bitch should know how her family feels about her."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, you don't know what happens to those who commit treason once they're in a Royal's grasp?" He shook his head at her, like she was stupid. "Doesn't matter what kind; Drovanian or Sephorian, they all treat their inferiors the same."

Her breathing became ragged. "I'm n-not inferior. My family loves me. You don't know what you're talking about."

"You have no_ family_," Azariel proclaimed, like the word was disgusting to him. He began closing in on her. "They left you the moment they realized you murdered the closest friend of the Drovanian King. _You _are the reason Sephoria is now being slain by Drovanian troops. _You_ are the reason for your Kingdom's downfall. For that, your family will never forgive you."

Siarya wanted to slap him.

But as part of her attempted to think of another conclusion, she knew that if her family thought she did something, _anything_, to threaten the unexpected and rare opportunity for an alliance between rival Kingdoms, they would certainly not be very happy with her.

Tears escaped her eyes as she held herself to keep from shaking. "My family wouldn't…"

"They already did." Azariel said softly. He suddenly grew very sympathetic, and she hated it.

"Az," Alana warned again. "She's not ready for this. Look at her—she's been through enough tonight."

"She has to know, Alana," he told her sharply. His eyes flitted back to Siarya. "It's been two weeks. She deserves to be told."

"She's just a _child_."

"Not anymore," Azariel replied. "You know that, Alana."

"Know what?" Siarya asked numbly. Her patience was rapidly thinning now. "What are you not telling me?"

Alana and Azariel exchanged looks. When Azariel gave her a definite glare, Alana sighed, brushing her forehead with her hand in exasperation, before sitting down on one of the beds. She stared at Siarya with sadness, while Azariel's expression remained impassive.

"Siarya," he said finally. His eyes met hers. "You've been exiled."

All the blood drained from her face. She spoke faintly, "What?"

"I imagine your family was placed under pressure with King Domonic's rage hanging over them. They couldn't handle another attack against their valued Kingdom, so they did what they could in order to assuage him. In this case, it was exile," Alana explained, her voice very kind. It seemed so wrong, listening to the pity in her voice. "I'm sure they have no reason to believe that you actually murdered that man—"

"Family or not, Sephorian Royals will destroy every bit of you if you let yourself be taken so easily," Azariel interrupted. "You may be a Princess, but you are no more than a dead woman if you stroll back into your Kingdom."

"I can't just…" Siarya said hopelessly, her voice small and frail. Would her mother really exile her from Sephoria to please King Domonic? It seemed so cruel. She couldn't bear to think of the truth. "What do I do? Where do I _go?"_

"You'll go to your grave." Azariel said coolly.

"Azariel!" Alana exclaimed, shocked at his words. "You can't say that—"

Azariel growled angrily, thrusting his hand towards Siarya's direction. "Look at her, Alana. She's weak! She can be broken like a twig. Her chance against fighting anyone would be inviting herself to her own funeral."

"I can use a sword." Siarya said, just for the sake of protesting.

He pulled the knife out of his belt and threw it into the air, only to catch it lightly and more comfortably than before. "How about a dagger?"

Her tongue felt like lead. "Never tried."

"Thought so," he offered it to her forcefully. She took it clumsily, the handle rough worn against her fingertips. "This'll be your new best friend."

"Azariel, this is insane," Alana declared. "You can't expect her to survive like this."

"Why?" He barked, stepping towards her. "We do."

_"You_ do." She corrected sharply.

Siarya opened her mouth to speak—to protest—because she didn't want to be associated with these people. These so-called rebels living in the Drovanian forests. But before she could say a single word, the entrance to the tent flipped open, and a young Sephorian man with black hair and wide, blue eyes appeared before them. "Azariel, perhaps this isn't the best time—"he started, but _another_ Sephorian man behind him instantly stopped him. How many Sephorians were living in Drovania? Siarya wondered. And _why?_

"Mark!" The man behind the black-haired man shouted. He was a tall, muscular man in his mid-forties with unruly blonde hair and a narrow face, covered in a thick beard. "Can't you see they're busy?"

"Oh," the black-haired man—Mark?—said suddenly, looking embarrassed. He glanced over to Siarya. "My apologies, dear. My name is Mark. I wasn't aware that you had woken up. Have I interrupted anything important?"

"We were just talking about exile," Azariel answered with a wave of his hand, as if this was a casual thing for him. "What do you need, Mark?"

"Uh, well, sir," he stammered awkwardly. He shifted on his feet. "Ben and I are wondering about the status of some material parts in stock. Steel wires, specifically."

"Mark, Lionel, no offense, but this is hardly the time." Alana said sternly. Mark's face fell, while the other man, Lionel, just exhaled in frustration.

"No, hang on," Azariel said suddenly, his eyes widening in interest. He pointed at the two men. "Maybe we can get their input on our little discussion."

"Azariel…"

"No, really," he continued. He walked towards Mark and the man named Lionel. "Siarya is our new guest. She has been exiled from her home under false accusations. Due to this inconvenience, she is in danger from both Drovanian and Sephorian Royalty, and she has no way of protecting herself. Now, we could either leave her in the forest to die somewhere, eaten by some rabid bunny rabbit—or, we can accept her into our generous arms and teach her how to use a damn knife."

"Don't I get a say in this?" Siarya asked angrily.

The man named Lionel placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, sheathed onto his belt. His expression was contorted into a deep frown. "Have her stay. She'll be safer here."

"Excuse me," Siarya snapped. "Who are you?"

"My name is Lionel," he replied, as if she hadn't already heard. He pointed to the tent's exit. "I live here, too."

"As a rebel?"

He grimaced. "If you want to call me that. "

"I think she should be allowed to do whatever she wants," Mark said suddenly. Siarya then looked at him fondly, and decided that she liked him better than the rest. "She should take a look at our residences before making any big decisions."

"What, to see if they're up to her standards?" Lionel sneered. "She'll never stay."

"Well, she can never go back home. Where else is she going to go?"

"This is a rebel camp—"

"She's a rebel now, ain't she?"

"In Drovania—"

"She was willing to live in Drovania when she was going off to marry the King," Mark protested. "Our camp is the safest place in the entire forest because it's hidden, Lionel. I'm sure if she has to make a choice, she'd choose the safest one. But it's her decision to make."

They all looked at Siarya.

"Um," she stammered. Her face grew hot. "I—I don't know you people. I don't even know why you saved me from the dungeons, or how you knew I was there in the first place when nobody else did. I just want to go home."

"You can't go home. They'll kill you," Azariel said easily. Siarya flinched. "And_ I_ saved you, darling. Don't give them any of the credit."

The men—Mark, Lionel—and Alana all glared at Azariel in unison. He just shrugged.

"Siarya, honey," Alana said quietly, catching her attention. Her expression was soft and affectionate, like a mother's, and it made Siarya's heart clench. She moved over to where Siarya sat and knelt before her, the dim glow of the lantern radiating behind her like a halo, her eyes dark and honest as their gaze met. She put her hand on Siarya's knee. "I know you're scared. I know you've been through a lot. We can tell you anything you need to know, and we won't make you stay here if you don't want to."

Tears filled up in Siarya's eyes. "I want to go home."

Azariel sucked in a breath, but everyone ignored him. Alana continued on, "I know you do. And I'm sure your family wants you back, too, but the Drovanians can be very frightening."

"They wouldn't just _leave_ me here," Siarya protested. She began to cry. "How could they exile me?"

"To protect themselves," Azariel cut in. "Obviously."

Siarya glowered up at him. "You are very presumptuous, sir."

"So are you," he replied scathingly. "How does it feel to be on the other side of the spectrum? I imagine you've never been afflicted by Sephorian Royalty and their selfishness before now. Well guess what, pumpkin? Your family is just a big, wet, steaming wad of terrible people. Terrible enough, unfortunately, to exile their daughter to save their own hides, even if said daughter wasn't to blame."

"You don't know anything about my family."

His gleaming eyes narrowed dangerously. "You wanna bet?"

Siarya gritted her teeth silently as she glared at him. He cocked a brow.

"Siarya," Lionel spoke up, saying her name for the first time. She reluctantly moved her gaze towards him. His expression was grave. "King Domonic is not a well-minded man. Many of his family members, including his father, have been killed by Sephorians. He has a blatant, obvious hatred towards our kind. I imagine he only wanted to marry you for entertainment, not for diplomacy. He didn't expect to have you run about his Castle, and he certainly didn't expect to hear of his friend's death, despite the circumstances of how the situation played out. King Domonic will not listen to reason. He will listen to his constant thirst for vengeance."

"Then what do I do?" Siarya asked in frustration. She raked her fingers through her hair, getting stuck on the knots. "I can't get married, and I can't go home. I can't prove my innocence, because my Kingdom didn't exile me because I supposedly murdered a man, they exiled me to make King Domonic _happy,"_ she spat, seething. "And my only choice is to stay here, in a Drovanian forest, surrounded by rebel Sephorians being led by one cocky Drovanian? Honestly, it doesn't seem much better. In fact, it doesn't even make _sense."_

"Many of us ran from Sephoria to avoid being drafted to war," Mark said quietly. "Living hidden in Drovania seemed to be the safest bet while being hunted down by Sephorian officials."

"How honorable of you," Siarya replied flatly. "Meanwhile, I'm currently being hunted down by _both_ Kingdoms."

"How did you end up in the dungeons anyway?" Alana asked.

"I was kidnapped by a stranger!" Siarya exclaimed, throwing up her arms. "_He's _the reason I never even met King Domonic. He was hired to keep me away from the bridge between the Kingdoms for some ridiculous reason I cannot recall, and he ended up bringing me to the Drovanian Castle as a prisoner. He knew I was the Princess, too! It's all his fault that the Kingdoms have been thrown back into war, with no more hope of an alliance."

"And no one recognized you in the dungeons?"

"I tried to tell them who I was, but they wouldn't believe me," Siarya replied.

"I imagine they wouldn't," Azariel said thoughtfully. He stroked the stubble on his chin. "Many Sephorians run to Drovania in hopes of escaping from their troubles. Especially young women who want to avoid an arranged marriage, or something trivial like that. It's rather common to find trespassers residing in the dungeons there. The guards probably didn't think much of it."

"But surely someone has told the King exactly what happened to me, right?" Siarya asked in desperation. "Someone must have told him that I was taken to the Castle as a prisoner, and that I didn't stand him up?"

"I honestly don't know," Azariel answered with a frown. "Even if a guard bothered to inform him of their mistakes, I doubt the King would change anything. He knows you're Sephorian Royalty, and so therefore he wants you dead."

"Damn it!" Siarya cursed. She leaned forward to plant her face in her hands, but lurched back at the sudden jolt of pain in her ribs. She let out a soft yelp.

"Siarya, careful, dear," Alana warned. "You're still healing."

"I want to go home." Siarya said stubbornly.

"You can't."

"I _know_ that!" She spat back. She furiously began to wipe her tears away.

"Look," Lionel said loudly, stealing away everyone's attention. "You know about your situation. You can choose to either stay here with us, or you can go off alone. It's your decision. We won't make you do anything you don't want to do," he paused, as if thinking. "But remember that there are Drovanian troops guarding the boundaries of the Kingdom, and if you manage to miraculously get past them, you'd still have to deal with the Sephorian wall that barricades Sephoria from incoming Drovanian attacks—and that wall is crawling with Sephorian soldiers. And, if you manage to survive such a feat, you'd still have nowhere to go, because your family's safe houses will not accept you, nor will your relatives. You are a danger to anyone who helps you, because you are a _criminal_ now, Siarya. Not a Princess."

"Why do you care?" Siarya asked. She looked at all of them. "Why do you all care? Why save me? Why is it so important?"

"Azariel was the one who decided to save you," Mark spoke up. "We didn't realize you were the Princess until he'd brought you back."

Siarya peered over towards Azariel, who watched in silence, his amber eyes glittering mischievously. He smirked and said, "What? I thought it'd be fun."

"How'd you know I was the Princess when no one else did?" Siarya inquired, her eyes narrowing.

"My superior intuition." He replied cockily.

"Don't play games with me."

"I'm not," he said calmly. "I have connections in the Castle. I hear things. Rumors, gossip, all the juicy stuff. I heard there was a helpless damsel in distress hidden away in the deepest pits of the dungeon, and I thought to myself, _why not? _I've broken in and out of the Castle before._"_

"So rescuing me was on a whim," Siarya said slowly. "It wasn't because I was the Princess?"

"Well, that little rumor made you more interesting, I admit."

Siarya scowled and rubbed her eyes, suddenly feeling very tired. "I don't trust you."

"If you're uncomfortable with staying here," Mark said then, "Perhaps we can introduce you to the people. It might make it easier for you to make up your mind."

Before Siarya or anybody could respond, Mark was already poking his head outside, calling out names.

The tent entrance opened up wide, and a group of people—all men—stood outside, as if they'd been waiting. Or eavesdropping. They were dressed in leather and cloth, with weapons hooked to their belts or against their backs. Most of them looked excited to see her, which was odd, Siarya thought. From left to right, there was a tall, burly man with graying black hair and stormy blue eyes. He stared at her with a serious expression. On his right stood a young man, probably around Siarya's age, with a wiry form, sandy-blonde hair, and a nervous grin. Next to him was a young boy around ten, standing close to a feeble old man, who was giving her a toothy smile. On the very far right stood a bookish man with long, pulled back chestnut-brown hair and a narrow face. He regarded Siarya with a small poke at his spectacles, pushing them further up his long nose. They were all Sephorian.

Behind them, spacious tents circulated a clearing like a miniature village, Siarya could spot ten or so. Some were made more like cabins, although not so sturdy-looking. Weapon racks, hanging skins, weaving stations, and sitting areas scattered the area particularly in front of the tents as if they were front porches. From the clearing, trails led separately back into the dark, lifeless woods, leading to other areas that were invisible to the naked eye.

If Siarya were to picture a group of rebels, this group wouldn't be it. They looked more like a family.

"Siarya, may we introduce you to the rest of our lovely group," Mark announced warmly. He pointed at the black-haired man, "That's Darion. He may look and act like a grumpy gorilla, but he's happy to meet you, I swear."

"Pleased." Darion grumbled, disinterested. His black beard twitched when he talked.

"And then the young man next to him is Arturo," Mark continued. The sandy-haired boy waved happily at Siarya, who gave him a small smile in return. "And the little boy is Alana's son, Jesse. Then there's our old dog on the right—his name is Gray. He's also pretty deaf."

Siarya didn't say anything. Jesse grinned at her, and Gray's old-man smile didn't falter. She wasn't sure if he knew what was going on.

"And then there's Benjamin," Mark suddenly grew very affectionate towards the man with the spectacles. His voice turned dreamy, "He's the nicest of the bunch."

The man named Benjamin blushed and pushed up his spectacles again with his finger. He regarded Mark with a loving look before turning to Siarya. "Pleased to meet you, miss Renette. I've heard a lot about you."

Feeling shy, Siarya just nodded at him.

"Mark, don't you think you should be going?" Azariel said, sounding annoyed. He was peering up at the top of the tent unblinkingly. Siarya couldn't help but scowl at him. Was he always this rude?

"Right, uh…Sorry…" Mark let out an unamused chuckle. "Yes. I should be going. I'll be with Ben at the workshop," he announced sheepishly, sending an affectionate look to Siarya. "It was nice meeting you, Siarya. I hope you stay. It's a good place here."

Siarya bit her lip, still unsure of what to say. Mark smiled and turned to walk past the men, clapping Ben on the back with his hand like they were family. Benjamin nodded at Siarya in farewell before they disappeared from behind the tent's flap.

"Ben and Mark are _scientific inventors_, and absolutely refuse to be called anything else," Alana said amiably. "They're also involved."

"Involved?" It took a moment for Siarya to understand. _"Oh."_

She had never seen such a thing, but she held her tongue. It was an intriguing thought that had never occurred to her; two people of the same gender. Her mother never would have approved.

Then again, she wasn't her mother.

"Alright, boys," Alana said to the men. They all looked at her, "Siarya needs more rest. Perhaps you can talk to her when its _morning." _She spoke in a way that implied she'd wanted all of this to happen in the morning in the first place.

Lionel sighed and nodded, moving towards the door. He stopped by the man named Darion, who was giving Alana a pleasant look. Something glimmered in his eyes, and he turned away to exit the tent with Lionel right behind him. Gray, the silent old man, then followed. Arturo stood at the entrance awkwardly, his cheeks pink, staring at Siarya like he'd never seen a girl before. The little boy beside him, Jesse, spun around to sneak out.

"Not you, Jesse," Alana called out sharply, causing the boy to freeze. "It's past your bedtime."

"But ma!" He whined, pointing outside. "They get to stay up!"

"They're big boys," Alana replied as she ushered him inside. "You'll get there someday."

Jesse made a noise of frustration before marching over to the end of the tent and becoming extremely interested in an embroidered pillow sitting on one of the beds, his arms crossed defiantly. Alana rolled her eyes and turned to Azariel, who looked uninterested in moving. "You too, Az."

Azariel regarded her with a huff of breath before glancing at Siarya. "Since you're staying, I will be teaching you how to fight without making yourself look ridiculously stupid."

"I'm—"Siarya frowned in puzzlement. "I never said I was staying—"

"You never said, but you're going to," he declared. "You have nowhere else to go. You can pretend to have a choice, but everyone knows that you're going to stay."

"You assume too much—"

"We'll meet again. Next time, I'll show you how to use a knife," Azariel interrupted her. He nodded at Alana, who was staring in disapproval. "Goodnight."

He then walked through the tent's exit causing the tent's flap to close, shrouding Arturo's silent gaze from view. Siarya was then left alone with Alana and Jesse.

She felt overwhelmed. They all seemed nice enough, except Azariel. How could he possibly assume she'd want to learn how to fight like him? She enjoyed dueling with Niera, but this was different. Azariel probably wanted to teach her how to _kill. _

To kill men just like he killed Klaus.

Did he feel remorse?

She could still see a sliver of the outside where the men began to talk again. She saw a Darion give Arturo a pat on the back as the others laughed. _"That's got be the prettiest girl he's ever gonna see again."_

Siarya's face flushed, and she looked away hurriedly. She heard Lionel call out to him as they joked. _"Aw, Darion. Don't be hard on the boy. He'll get there soon."_

"Siarya," Alana said softly. "Are you alright?"

She jumped at the question, Alana's voice shaking her from her thoughts. "Yes," she replied, although it felt like a lie. "I'm fine."

Alana nodded, although Siarya could see she didn't quite believe her. Siarya began to study the interior of the tent, trying to ignore Alana's motherly gaze, admiring its decoration once again. She rubbed her arms for warmth.

Then Alana motioned to the bed Siarya was sitting on. "I need to make a third bed."

"Oh," Siarya replied, not knowing what to say. "Well, um… okay."

Alana nodded then, awkwardly throwing the tent into silence as she turned to gather blankets and pillows. Siarya listened as she pushed furniture to the side to make room for the makeshift cot. Siarya saw a ragged teddy bear under the blankets of the bed across from her, and a question sprung into her mind. "Are you the only woman here?"

Alana paused in her work, her eyes glancing over. "Yes…"

Siarya saw her discomfort, and quickly grew silent again. She fumbled with the threads of her gown—she was still wearing the clothes from the dungeon. Feeling uncomfortable, she squirmed on the bed. "Alana?"

"Yes?"

"Do you have any spare clothes?" Siarya asked.

Alana's eyes widened, and she jumped up. "Oh! Yes. Here, uh—"she moved over to a dresser and began to dig around. She pulled out a beige nightgown, and handed it to Siarya. "You can wear this tonight. I have more clothes you can borrow for tomorrow."

"Thank you," Siarya replied. She looked around. "Is there anywhere I can change for privacy?"

"No…"Alana tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear. She looked sheepish as she spoke, "It's usually just Jesse and I…you can try changing under the covers of the bed you're sitting on, if you feel self-conscious about it."

Siarya blushed and sat there for a few more moments before relenting, and crawling under the bed covers to strip herself of her clothes. She'd never been completely naked and in the same room with anyone before. She tried not to think about it as she hastily slipped Alana's nightgown on, her eyes fixated on Alana and her son, who hadn't even looked at her. Alana was busy fixing up a bed, and Jesse looked more interested in a knick-knack sitting on a table.

Guess he wasn't at the age yet to care about a naked girl in his presence, Siarya mused

After changing into cleaner clothes, Siarya felt more comfortable. She still needed a bath—but this was good enough. Despite everything, she was, in a way, content. Such peace allowed her to think about her situation.

Siarya sucked in a deep breath. The weird happiness here seemed contagious, like the warm tent kept out all the bad things. Being accused of murdering Klaus, becoming a criminal, King Domonic's vengeance… none of that was here. It still scared her, as if the relaxing sound of the boiling soup settling or the flickering of the lantern that lingered over them would unexpectedly turn into the sounds of Drovanian footsteps, or the joking conversations taking place outside would transform into battle cries and screams of agony. It seemed too surreal to have been brought to this strange rebel group, Sephorians of all people. Except Azariel, who seemed to be the only Drovanian present.

"Alana?"

"Hmm?"

"Azariel is the only Drovanian," Siarya said, hardly disguising her disdain for the man. "And you all seem to follow him."

Alana raised her brows, quiet for a few moments, before finally understanding. "Azariel has no allegiance to King Domonic and his rule, if that's what you're wondering. None of us truly know what he'd done to become a vigilante—in fact, I don't think anybody actually knows who he is, really," she let out a light chuckle. "But he allowed Sephorian rebels under his wing. We didn't trust him at first, but he proved to be smart. He's clever. He's also a brilliant fighter, and he protects our camp. He knows so much about the Drovanian Court that we sometimes wonder if he's part of it—but that would be insane, because the King wishes for his head."

"And you don't know why?"

"No clue," Alana answered. "But quite honestly, not a lot of men here like to talk about why they're running from the law. It's an unspoken agreement not to prod for such sensitive information."

_ Huh. _Siarya bit her lip thoughtfully. _How could people trust him?_

Azariel knew that she was in the Castle. He knew she was the Princess when no one else did. He knew how to break in, and he knew how to break out, obviously. The man he killed, Klaus, had recognized him.

Not just recognized him, Siarya remembered, but Klaus had wanted to _kill_ Azariel.

Siarya's eyes widened slightly in realization. How had she not thought of it before? Klaus had known who Azariel was. There was no doubt, now.

Azariel had said that he killed Klaus because he was about to kill her. But what if that wasn't true? What if he was protecting his identity?

So that posed a question; who _was_ Azariel? And why did he save her?

He didn't just rescue Siarya from the dungeons, but he'd offered to teach her how to fight, too. Every part of her was telling her not to accept. But what was she going to do? Go home? Princess or not, exile was exile. Even if Azariel was lying, Klaus's death would cause complications either way. There was no way she could possibly marry the King now.

There were safe houses in Sephoria for Royals during Drovanian sieges. They were heavily guarded, but Siarya knew they wouldn't accept her. The one man, Lionel, had said the same thing. Siarya also knew that her relative family wouldn't take her in. They wouldn't tarnish their pride like that. Helping someone who was exiled would be considered _dirty._

But this was Drovania. This was a land of cold, everlasting winter. It was a constant cemetery for the living. It was full of monsters and beasts, and nothing that Siarya was ever prepared for.

If she stayed in this rebel group, then she'd have to accept Azariel's offer. She didn't trust him. She didn't even_ like_ him. But she'd have to know how to protect herself.

If she left, she'd most likely die trying to get to the border of Drovania. Even if she survived, she'd have nowhere to go.

So _where _was she going to go?

"That one man, Mark," Siarya said, picking her words carefully. "He said most of the people here wanted to avoid being drafted to war. How exactly is this," she motioned to the outside, "Better than war?

"We do stay here for that reason, as selfish as it sounds," Alana answered, sounding almost tired. No, not tired—worn out. "It hasn't been easy. I don't know how Drovanians handle living here for hundreds of years. It surprises me that animals still roam these lands, even if they have become soulless monsters. There's not a day that goes by where the camp isn't attacked by some kind of beast, a rabid deer or wolf. Even the darkness sticks to your skin, turning your flesh gray."

"Then why stay?" Siarya asked. "Why not hide in Sephoria, where the forests are safer? There's more food."

Alana looked at her softly and her shoulders slumped. Everything about her was full of sympathy and Siarya wondered if she knew something that she didn't. "How involved were you with Kingdom affairs as a Princess, my dear?"

Siarya thought back. "I was never told much. The only information I ever got was from friends," _Eriana, _she thought with sudden sadness. "And everything else from just rumors, I suppose. I've never even been to more than one council meeting."

Alana lowered her eyes. "Sephoria is… beautiful. It's very hard to see the horrors that take place on the streets when the people pretend that nothing is happening. Peasants will talk amongst each other in taverns, and will let their guard down when they drink a little too much, but you will not find a beggar on the street dare to even speak of the problems that occur in the cities. Sephoria may have light, but there is nothing but darkness that resides in the souls of the people that fly in those skies. All of us, including Jesse and myself, came from different countries, but we all ran from the same thing: the lack of humanity demonstrated by our people."

"What kind of things?" Siarya asked quietly. "What do people do to each other?"

"My dear, you don't need to know," Alana replied, and Siarya closed her mouth. "And I pray that you never will."

Siarya asked very little questions after that; she wasn't even sure if she could even say another word. Instead, she studied the areas around her, listening to the voices outside of the tent. She realized, listening to the sounds and the way the people here sounded so _comfortable,_ that with the darkness came a veil of safety. She could feel it. When the malevolent shadows pulled back, the everlasting night blanketed the camp like a guardian, hiding them away from enemy eyes. She could understand how someday those voices, this sensation of dark safety could become familiar, and this wilderness _could_ possibly become a home.

Maybe.

A blacker darkness of night engulfed the forest and the men sat out by the fire, laughing with canteens of ail in their hands, acting as though they were family. Siarya could see them through the crack of the tent's opening. They seemed so happy here, she thought, despite their circumstances.

Alana pushed the last of the pillows around, forcefully creating a plush bed to sleep upon. When she finished, she patted the bed proudly. "Alright, I did the best I could. It's a good thing you're so small; I wouldn't have been able to fit anything bigger than this. It ain't as comfortable as those fancy mattresses you sleep on in that Palace of yours, but it'll do."

Siarya moved over to her bed, an assortment of rugged blankets and plump stuffed pillows. The mattress was not a mattress at all, but a layer of squishy cushions. It was the size of a small couch. "Alana?"

"Hmm?"

Siarya stroked the bed preciously. She'd rather sleep a million days in a bed such as this than to spend another night in the dungeons. "Thank you for doing this for me."

"I'm flattered, dear," Alana replied kindly as she untied her apron, hanging it on a tilted coat hanger. "But it's Azariel you should be thanking. He seems to care about your well-being."

"I don't understand why." Siarya said through gritted teeth. She didn't want to hear about how Azariel saved her. She didn't want to hear about how noble he was. She owed him nothing. He was the reason that Klaus was dead, and therefore he was at least part of the cause for her exile.

"To be honest, I never know what goes on in that clever head of his," Alana confessed humorously. She lifted her hand so that her fingers brushed the swollen cut near Siarya's temple. She winced at the pain. "I didn't think this needed stitches, but if anything changes, you should tell me. For now, we can let it heal for a couple days, just like your other wounds. It if reopens, we'll take a look at it."

"Thanks." She replied flatly. If Azariel was so clever, why did he kill Klaus, knowing the consequences?

"Is she staying here?" Jesse asked, speaking up for the first time in a while. He wore a scowl on his face.

"Jesse, be polite."

He turned to look at Siarya as if she were the strangest thing in the world. "But she's a _girl!"_

Alana gave him stern look. "She's one of us, now. She's family."

_Family? _Siarya thought, panic settling in. She'd never agreed to that sort of intimacy. These people weren't family—her family was in Sephoria, where it was warm and beautiful. Her mother, cold and calculating, was still her mother despite having exiled her from the Kingdom. Evermarie was incorrigible, thoughtless sometimes, even. But she was still kind. She'd denounced Siarya as a sister, but she still stood by Siarya's side during her departure to Drovania. And Eriana, her clever, witty baby sister—she was loyal beyond her years. Siarya knew that Eriana would be the one to know that she hadn't murdered Klaus. Eriana would be the one who'd fight against Siarya's exile, to fight against anything that threatened Siarya's safe return.

Siarya missed Eriana the most. Niera, too, as she would be the second one to fight for Siarya's sake. Her two best friends. Siarya wondered how they were faring.

Alana walked over to Jesse, crouching over him. She ushered him under the sheets of his bed and he obliged reluctantly. "Leave her be, baby. We're all tired, and it's late. You should have gone to bed an hour ago."

Siarya watched this motherly interaction between Alana and her son. She wouldn't admit it, but she thought it was fascinating. The way she spoke to him, the way she brushed away the brown hair from his eyes so tenderly, how she unnecessarily tucked him in when he could have done it himself. Alana demonstrated a deep compassion for Jesse that Siarya had never felt from the Queen. Normally she would never find herself pining for a thing she never had, but for the first time, she felt jealous.

Turning away from the sight, Siarya moved to her makeshift bed. She covered herself with the given blankets, and tucked herself in the way she learned to by herself. She fluffed her own pillows, and moved her own hair out of the way. Just like she had done before, every night.

"Ma." Siarya heard Jesse murmur sleepily as Alana sat beside him, stroking his head.

"Hmm?"

"The song…" he trailed off, lost in his youthful thoughts.

"Alright, baby," Alana whispered as she crouched. "Then you must sleep."

Jesse nodded, nuzzling his pillow.

Alana began to sing quietly, a gentle tune, more of a sweet humming with distinct words. The night outside became silent as only the sway of the branches carried through the air. Jesse closed his eyes to his mother's soothing voice, and even Siarya found herself under Alana's spell.

"_Little winged, you are the strong_

_ The loved, the bright_

_ That will shine the world as light as you are_

_ Though judgment clutch your beloved, 'tis time to close your wandering eyes _

_ The stars may gleam through your pleasant dreams_

_ For I am here for you,_

_So special winged, you are worthwhile_

_Little winged, all hearts shall align_

_To know that love comes from thee so highly_

_How it shall be, someday they'll see,_

_That the Heavens chorus praise_

_Those who were taken who still loved…"_

She continued on as Siarya began to drift, her eyes slipping from consciousness. Eventually Alana did finish, and Jesse slumbered on in his carefree dreams. Siarya, however, remained somewhat awake.

Alana touched the lantern above, about to blow out the candle.

"Alana?" Siarya murmured softly. Alana paused, looking at her.

"You're awake still?"

Siarya lifted herself from the covers, supporting herself with a pillow. "What was that song?"

Alana tilted her head, surprised from her curiosity. Slowly, but steadily, Alana sat beside Siarya and smiled kindly. "It's a lullaby; an anthem. It comes from the villagers of Sephoria."

"Even Eloraia?"

She did a little nod. "Especially Eloraia. You would hear it all the way from the Sephorian Mountains of Eloraia to the Southern Polimian Sea if you listened."

The Southern Polimian Sea bordered Amontae, the areas where Evermarie resided in. Could she have heard of such a solemn anthem? Then again, would she have cared? Siarya frowned. "I wonder why I have never heard of it."

Alana suddenly caressed Siarya's face. Siarya jutted backwards in shock, and Alana's eyes widened slightly in surprise and concern. Siarya was shaking, completely enchanted with such a feeling, unused to being treated so kindly by another mother. Understanding that Alana meant no harm, she found herself leaning forward to rest herself on her arm, her eyes fluttering in fatigue under the lovely tenderness of Alana's fingers. Her jealousy of Jesse intensified when Alana spoke, "I didn't mean to startle you, child. I know you're not as young as my son, but whenever Jesse is troubled, this always calms him down. If you want me to stop, I can."

"It's okay," Siarya whispered, snuggling her face into her pillow. "I'm just not used to it."

"Has your mother never done this?"

Siarya's body stilled. "I don't know," she said honestly.

Alana made a soft, low noise in the back of her throat, almost like a grunt of disapproval. She continued her loving ministrations. "As for your previous question, the lullaby is no anthem for the Royalty and the rich. The song was created to give villagers hope."

"Hope?" Siarya closed her eyes. "What for?"

"People die every day, Siarya. There is no fair share of food and resources; men are sent off to war and come back either dead or with nothing in return."

"My mother wouldn't do that." Siarya answered, her voice hoarse.

"Alas, 'tis your mother that made it happen, child," Alana peered over at Jesse. "It is the reason for why my son has no father."

Siarya opened her eyes and her muscles tightened. Her hands grew into fists. "You're wrong."

"What?" Alana questioned softly, smoothing down Siarya's long hair.

"Every day I hear another wrong thing that my Kingdoms done," Siarya whispered gratingly. "Who the latest kill was, what innocence the Royals scorned, and what hope they have stolen away. But nobody knows that our King is absent and all of the consequences are placed upon my mother. She's the one who deals with the Drovanian threat and the issues within the Kingdom, and she does her very best. But not all problems can be solved when the King is never around, or more accurately, not all problems can be solved when the King is the one _causing_ the problems, such as the incident with Laire."

Alana did not reply, but continued stroking.

"I am now one of the reasons my mother has to make sacrifices for the Kingdom. I just didn't realize it until it was too late," Siarya continued. She swallowed dryly, "Sure, it isn't my fault that I was kidnapped. It's not my fault that King Domonic believes I have scorned his pride and loyalty. None of the events that have happened in the last two weeks have been by my doing—but someone has to take the blame. Inevitably, it'd have to be me. And I understand that. I don't blame my mother for her decisions."

_I just wish she didn't do it, _Siarya thought. _I just wish she chose to save me instead. _

"That's good of you," Alana said quietly. "I think your mother would be proud. I also think she'd be happy to hear that you're safe."

"I think I should've known, though," Siarya murmured, fidgeting with a pillow string. Hot tears burned in her eyes and soaked into the pillow under her face. "I should've known that I wouldn't have been able to change anything. I should've known that Drovanians would try to kill me—at least, I assume that was the goal of my kidnapper. To degrade me, somehow. I should've known that my Kingdom was falling apart before this, before people like you tell me things, before—"

"Hey," Alana moved over to push Siarya's hair back away from her face. She was blushing from shame and anger. The touch of her fingers felt nice, and Siarya slumped into her touch. Alana's thumb wiped away a tear from her cheek. "You can hate yourself all you want, but you have to know that nobody is going to blame you for anything. Not here, not _ever._ We will not judge you for the crimes of others that occurred under your surveillance. You're a young girl, still just a child—it is a foolish thing to have put the fate of a war in your hands when there are too many players that don't play fair."

"I was supposed to be the savior," Siarya whispered as she cried. She couldn't help the tears—they just kept coming, and now she didn't want to stop. Not while Alana was comforting her with soft hands and a gentle, coaxing voice. "My mother sent me away because she thought I could do it. She thought I could save Sephoria, but I failed her. Everything's messed up, and now people want to kill me—"

"There are countless men who have tried to stop this bloody war from the beginning of it all, and all have failed. Your mother was foolish to assume that she could just throw you into the mix and expect a different result," Alana replied calmly. "It's okay, child. It's impossible to save the world, no matter how much you want to. What you've done is good enough. You don't have to be sorry for anything, you've done nothing wrong."

Siarya clenched her fingers and bit down a quiet wail as her body wracked with sobs. "No, you don't understand."

"What don't I understand?" Alana asked patiently.

"I—"Siarya choked. "Azariel's right. I have to stay here."

Alana didn't speak, so Siarya continued. "They think I killed a man, and now my family will not have me back. They _can't_ have me back. I have no home, no friends, and I don't know what to do. All I can think is that I'm scared, and I don't want to feel that way anymore. I don't want to be scared."

"You're here now," Alana assured her sweetly, rubbing her back. "You were meant to be here."

"Do you think King Domonic will find me here?" Siarya asked then, looking up at Alana. "If I stay, do you think he'll discover this place?"

Alana leaned down and kissed Siarya's temple, just like the mother she never had. She felt selfish and ungrateful just for scorning her own parent, but it was trapping her like a cage. She loved her mother, but she_ needed_ this comfort. "No, I honestly don't think he will. Not with Azariel around."

"Azariel will protect me?" Siarya asked doubtfully.

Alana chuckled softly and she blew out the light. The tent went dark except for the bonfire just outside the tent, where the shadows of men sat. "Always. You may not know us well, Siarya, but we protect our own."

"A-Alana?"

"Hmm?"

Siarya paused before speaking, "Thank you."

Silence rung in the air before Alana answered in the dark, "You're welcome."


	13. A Consequence of Fate

**AN:** Sorry for the week-long wait. This chapter took a while to edit. Thank you for your patience :)

In this chapter, you'll see that at some point, rooms will be called "rooms" instead of "nests", because in Drovania, they have a Castle instead of a Hollow, unlike Sephorians.

* * *

**The Present Year**

**The Search for Light**

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

**A Consequence of Fate**

_**Eriana**_

"You'd think Lord Coranther would have responded by now," Queen Genevieve said bitterly as she stirred pink tea in a delicate tea cup. "With all the chaos that has been occurring in the past few months. Does he not recognize the nobility of a Royal? Should he become ignorant of who gives him power?"

"I'm sure he's just delayed, your majesty." A plump woman assured her charmingly. She was sitting on the opposite settee with her gown puffed up to her gigantic bosom and her dull brown hair pinned to the height Evermarie's wedding cake. Siarya would have called her a fat raspberry with her maroon attire; earrings, gown, lips, all colored red to make her look as though she had fallen into a fruit bowl. Instead, it was silent. No cause for laughter other than conversing with her own thoughts.

Eriana puffed out a long sigh. They all knew how she felt and what she wanted to do, but no one dared to ever recognize it. All of whom she loved here were cowards. She wasn't usually accustomed to calling out her family, but damn herself if she wasn't right.

It was Siarya who understood her. It was Siarya who knew how to laugh. It was Siarya who had realized how ridiculous their family was when even Evermarie had become one of the proud and the pompous.

"_Don't worry, sweet. I will always return; I promise you that. I will always keep you safe, no matter where I am."_

Siarya's last words still rang in her ears. Her fierce, unforgettable voice that used to laugh and cry with her. The voice that she would never hear again. The voice that their family never spoke of anymore.

And it was frustrating how the world could become so predictable. How life could go on pretending that the only decent friend alive did not exist; how her name was only spoken in hushed whispers across the corridors like she was the shadow of a demon waiting to be risen. This was never what Siarya had deserved, and Eriana knew this like the back of her hand. She knew her sister.

Siarya was the girl who used to build snowmen with her in the winter. She had been the person to go to whenever Eriana needed advice. Siarya used to come up with ideas to prank others when they'd go off together in the Hollow. She had made events fun. She had been almost perfect in the world's eyes—a little spoiled, yes, but who cared? Siarya had been Eriana's best and only friend.

But now people were murmuring words of her death. How Drovania had torn her apart and its forests had devoured the pieces of her soul. How the Drovanian King had been the victim, even though somehow he was still our enemy. Sephoria had turned its back on its Princess to a King they detested. It was tragic, and sick to express in the only ways Eriana could; _words._

Yet she was condemned to silence by her parents—or, rather, her mother. The King wasn't around, which_, shocker_, wasn't a surprise. It was the Queen who did not worry for Siarya. It was as if she had forgotten her, but Eriana knew by the glimmer in her mother's eyes that she still remembered what Siarya did. What Siarya had cost their Kingdom.

But it was _Sia._ How could she not care?

Eriana stood up and left her mother and the Fat Raspberry. The Queen did not object; she never did around company. She liked to offer the appearance that her family was perfect and never encountered problems. That Royalty was invincible.

If only they knew better.

The air outside was stifling. It was humid with the density of embarrassment and shame that Siarya had put on the Royal family. Why couldn't she have just been loyal enough to go along with the marriage? Why couldn't she have swallowed her pride?

She hated to think that Siarya was gone.

It'd been a year now since her exile, and there had been no word of her. Not even a sighting. Everyone presumed she was dead.

Eriana had her twelfth birthday a few months back. It was the first birthday where her best friend wasn't there. It reminded her again, painfully, of the absence left behind in her wake.

_She can't be dead, _Eriana thought ruthlessly. _My big sister can't be dead. _

Eriana fumbled restlessly with the clutches of her white laced handbag. She cried out in frustration when it wouldn't open. Smashing her fingers through the line of the opening, she tore it open, ripping the light fabric. A crumpled piece of parchment fell from the purse of which she immediately threw on the ground. She didn't want it anyways; it had always been too pretty.

She fell to her knees in dry sobs. She was alone in the corridor. Everything was dark. Everyone was quiet. The Kingdom had become desolate.

Eriana held the tear-stained parchment between her fingertips. She had received it days before, but it had become tattered with misuse. It was a letter in Evermarie's calligraphy, sent from Amontae soon after Eriana had sent a letter of worry. She had hoped her eldest sister would have some decency left in her to understand. After all, she was the last of all she had.

"_You mustn't speak of her name, sweet Eriana," _she had written furiously. _"She is not our sister anymore. She is a ghost. A bad woman with the heart of sin. Do not care for her, but understand what events must take place if we are to step out of our line in duty."_

Eriana had almost burned the letter in fear of believing it. But she didn't. Because she knew that somehow, wherever Siarya was, she would return. She never broke her promises.

Siarya couldn't be dead, because she said she would always return.

**~.~**

A wall exploded, throwing chunks of stone out over their heads. Someone screamed in the midst of the smoke, someone Eriana couldn't see. Something shoved her to the left where another figure raced into her, causing her to trip over a chair. Pattering feet trampled past her like a herd of horses, and she climbed onto the fallen chair to avoid it. There was so much dust. The clashing of metal against metal rang into the atmosphere, piercing her ears with the sounds of violence.

"Get the chain!" Someone shouted over the quaking ground. The Hollow was rumbling with war; tapestries were caught alight with flame from the lit arrows shot from the windows.

Three maids scurried past, coughing in the dust, holding the hands of two servant children. "Get out! _Get out!"_

A mob of guards swept past her, all adorned in their armor and swords. "Secure the boundaries. Cover all the exits, including the tunnels. Make sure there are watchers in the sky, but do _not_ approach them. It's dark; they'll be waiting."

"And the South, sir?"

"The men will be staying there. It's too much of a journey to turn back. We use what we can."

"And if that's not enough?"

Before the guard could reply, a flock of black feathers burst into the corridor, knocking them over and tearing at the furniture like a spiked wheel. Drovanians.

Then the fight broke out. She could hear it outside as explosions burned out in other regions of her home. Two arrows shot down the corridor, one of them meeting the back of a Sephorian soldier. He fell with a cry.

The Drovanians wore dark armor with glittering plates and light metal. They were fast, and skilled, and equipped with deadlier weapons. They sliced through Sephorian armor with such ease that it was as though they were cutting through butter.

Eriana, who stood silently between the fallen chair and a grandfather clock, caught a glimpse of another group of Sephorian soldiers. Picking up her skirts, she frantically ran through the violence; her hair was pulled and gown was caught, but she ran on, crying. "Guards! Guards!"

"Get the Princess to safety!"

But more Drovanians appeared, crashing through the windows, their weapons drawn. Glass shattered the ground like white rain. Their large tenebrous wings loomed over them like death himself, casting long shadows over the crumbled walls.

And she was lost again, drowning in the middle of a sea of swords and shields. Tripping over their feet, she was kicked by an unknown soldier. Coughing, she scrambled up and pushed her way through, dodging swinging swords and outstretched hands.

Another wall exploded and dust shrouded the air. Men coughed, and Eriana became blind. A figure, however, stood dazed before her in Sephorian armor. A soldier. A free guard.

"Sir!" Eriana lunged towards him, her hands out in desperation. "Sir, you must help me!"

He saw her immediately. "Princess? What are y—"

She watched in horror as a sudden chain wrapped around his throat from the open door beside him. He lifted his hands to his throat, startled, and the tight chain pulled back. The guard's neck twisted and dark red splattered the walls as his body was jolted inside.

Eriana screamed. She darted away from the killers, pushing down statues and ripping down tapestries. She had to find safety. Crying, she choked, her throat feeling swollen.

Something huge slammed into her. Spots clouded her vision. Her body connected with something cold and brittle; a crash sounded and her head exploded with pain. Then she was then falling. Hurtling downwards, glass danced around her as she fell. Wind ripped at her hair, pulling out its decorative ribbons and curls. The chill bit at her wet cheeks.

She didn't stop falling.

She had been pushed out a window.

She didn't expect the sudden rush of air, the horrid pull of breath from her lungs as she gasped in surprise, the feeling of losing herself in the fall. Everything was distorted in blurred images and she was spinning, her thoughts jumbled in an abstract mess as she fought to regain whatever sense she had left.

Eriana choked. She couldn't breathe. Her torso expanded slightly as she wheezed for air, but her corset kept her in. She couldn't fly. Her wings were bound. She had to _breathe._

The ground was coming too fast.

Her fingers began to tear at the back of her gown. Her lungs ached and she couldn't see without the wind pressing against her eyes. Gripping at the strings, she ripped them open from behind. Inhaling deeply for the first time, she unfurled her white wings in time to glide upwards, away from the ground and the broken window she had been pushed into.

The pain of unfurling her wings nearly knocked her right out of the sky. Tears were wetting her face from the searing ache of her muscles as they convulsed under her skin. She hadn't flown since she had saved Siarya in the tavern, and even then, it hurt so bad that it'd felt like she'd broken her back.

She spread her wings out as far as she could muster, and suddenly the world slowed down. She was still falling a little, but she wasn't spinning anymore—and it gave her enough clarity. She swooped upwards in full flight. The air, littered with smoke and the scent of blood, was not as refreshing as she thought it would be. But it was enough.

_So this is what it's like, _she thought as she raced upwards. _Being able to do things with no constraints._

She missed flying. It hurt—Gods, did it hurt—but past the burn of her muscles, past the shooting pain coursing through her wings, past the effects of seven years of captivity, there was the inevitable, beautiful, insane thrill of being in the sky again.

Suddenly, a fast flame grazed her shoulder. She could feel the heat scorch her hair. Turning, nearly faltering in the air as she did so, she immediately saw two Drovanians that had been watching in the shadows. They floated there, their eyes gleaming like wolves in the night, their hands holding a bow with a flaming arrow ready.

Eriana had to bite her tongue to keep herself from cursing.

Instantly charging downwards, she hoped to lose them then. But she wasn't lucky, and a second flaming arrow brushed past her. She let out a whimper. She was not a fast flyer; she never has been to begin with. She was out of practice. The chance of out-racing them was next to impossible.

Another arrow shot past her and she could hear them laughing. They were in arm's reach of her when she changed directions suddenly, flying into the nearest broken window.

Two people hurled themselves out of her way as she darted through the corridor, knocking over pedestals and dodging fighters. The two men followed her.

She'd never flown in the Hollow's corridors before.

Eriana made a sharp turn, nearly colliding into a wall. She kicked the stone with her feet to give her speed. She knocked over a frightened man and dove under a swinging club held by a heavy-set Drovanian. Racing forward, she glanced behind to see the two men clumsily chasing her, dodging similar obstacles.

She looked back in front of her. Gasping, she flapped her wings to a stop; a tall Drovanian soldier stood in front of her in a dead end. Unable to stop at her speed, she crashed into the man. Metal cracked against the ground in a crashing motion. His cold armor dug into her skin as she immediately scrambled away from him.

She could hear the two other men coming, their wings quick like hummingbirds.

The Drovanian she crashed into snarled at her, the scars on his face rippling like waves on water. His skin was a pure, metallic gray, stained with black markings and flecks of blood. He bared his teeth at her and she tried to make a run for it, but he was already surging forward, his big hands crushing her wrists to the floor.

She let out a cry. She tried to knee him in the crotch, but he pressed his legs down on her, trapping her to the floor. His breath smelled of blood.

He moved both her wrists to one hand as he reached for his dagger with the other. Seeing the threatening blade, Eriana's heart stopped.

She didn't want to die.

In panic, she unfurled her hands. _Do it, _she thought. _Come on. _

Nothing was happening. The Drovanian raised his dagger.

She stretched out her fingers. She tried to concentrate. Cold sweat dotted her brow. _You can do this. _

With a sudden burst of confidence, her power came at the last second. The Drovanian flew off of her, his back slamming against the opposite wall with a _thump._ He was unconscious.

Eriana let out a shaky laugh of triumph. She did it. She actually gained control of her magic and literally totaled the man. Threw him right off.

She stood up, brushing the dust off her gown. _Job well done. _

Her joy disappeared suddenly as she felt someone grab her from behind, another hand clamped around her mouth. She had momentarily—and foolishly—forgotten about the other two Drovanians chasing her. She let out a high-pitched scream. She kicked and struggled as the person dragged her inside a nest and shut the door.

It was a young woman in silver armor. Her helmet had gone astray so her vibrant white hair bounced and swayed at her every movement. Eriana watched as she quickly pulled a wardrobe in front of the door, blocking anyone from entering. She could hear pounding on the door and the splintering of wood.

"Niera…" Eriana whispered in relief, her eyes glistening with tears as she recognized her sister's best friend. "Oh, thank the Gods that you found me. I-I don't know what to do. I was being c-chased and s-shot at. My parents—"

"Your father isn't here, Eriana," Niera replied curtly as she dashed across the nest, checking the locks on the windows. "As for your mother, I honestly do not have a clue where she is either."

"Is she…?" Eriana asked, dreading the worst.

Niera glanced at Eriana, "I don't know. But I don't think she's…" Something loud exploded outside the window. Eriana could see the orange, fiery light flash across Niera's features, glinting against her silver eyes. Her face was set in a grim expression, her lips in a thin line. She drew back from the window. "If the Queen was dead, the Drovanians would waste no time announcing it."

Eriana curled up in a ball against a canopy bed, her wings curling forward to hug her body. It was one of the guest bedchambers. Another explosion sounded from outside and screams echoed in the air. "N-Niera, why are they here? How did they get to the Hollow?"

"They must have found a way around the mountains. It's the only way they could have done it," she said dryly. She walked over to Eriana and knelt beside her, stroking her face. "It will be alright, do you understand me? I will get you somewhere safe."

"I know," Eriana answered without a doubt. "Sia trusted you."

Niera froze. An unrecognizable emotion flitted across her face. "It's good to hear her name from a Royal again."

"Do you miss her name as much as I do?" Eriana asked with a hope. It was hardly the moment, but she had to ask. Niera, after all, was the closest person that Siarya had ever been to. "Do you believe that she'll come back?"

Niera frowned with such sorrow within her eyes that Eriana's faint smile diminished completely. "I have to find you somewhere safe to be. We'll talk of this later."

"No!" Eriana grabbed Niera's wrist when she stood up. "No, because that's exactly what we won't do. People don't speak of her anymore. It's as though she never existed, and I know that you'll do the same, because that's what my parents make you do."

Niera shook her off, her teeth gritted. "We'll talk of this _later_, Eriana"

"This isn't her fault!" She shouted angrily, standing up. Maybe it was the current events making her act this way; perhaps she was trying to convince herself of this in the midst of a war on Siarya's behalf. "She wouldn't have killed someone just because she didn't want to be with him. She's not selfish like that."

Niera gave her a sad, skeptical look as she opened a large pair of drapes. "I know."

Eriana slowly walked over to the window. It was tall, reaching from her feet to above her head. While Niera was attempting to open it, Eriana caught sight of the terror outside.

She could see the courtyard from here. Groups fought against mobs and the ground trickled with rivers of red. Crumpled bodies lay in awkward positions in various areas after being kicked around and hassled. Many nests were on fire, flames licking the sides of jagged windows. Here, her radiant Hollow full of such beauty was dragged down to a place equivalent to Totorous itself.

Suddenly the wood burst in the door, and the wardrobe tipped from the weight of the killers. Niera, cursing, withdrew her lustrous sword. "Eriana, escape through the window. It's not safe here."

"What about you?"

The wardrobe finally tipped and toppled to the ground with a loud _slam_ that caused the floor to shudder. The wardrobe exploded into dozens of wood fragments on impact. Three men stood in the doorway like demons from down under. All in black, all intimidating. But Niera stepped forward, her sword pointed at them.

She spoke only one word. "Go."

Then she was fighting, one against three. One of the men started over to where Eriana stood, but Niera immediately blocked him with her sword while dodging an incoming blow. She fought like a warrior, managing to keep up with three weapons while she only had one. Eriana only hoped she could be fast enough.

Feeling up the window, she pushed. Hard. It wouldn't budge. There was no handle like the other ones on the windowpane, or the sides, or the top. She would have to break it open.

She glanced at Niera, who managed to stab one Drovanian in the torso. He was on the ground, deeply hurt, but still alive. Niera was panting.

Eriana scanned the nest frantically, looking for anything that could break glass. A small ornament sat on the mantle of a fireplace, very near where Niera stood fighting. Inhaling deeply, Eriana made a run for it; grabbing the ornament with the swipe of her hand, Niera brought down her sword on one of the men's weapons as he lunged for her.

Back to the window, Eriana fumbled with the ornament. It was a small metal ball with intricate designs carved into it. It had to be enough to break glass. She lifted the ornament, ready to strike—

Niera made a terrible sound as Eriana heard a sickening wet noise. The ornament smashed into the glass, leaving a jagged hole the size of her head. But she turned around, and the ornament dropped from her hands.

Niera crumbled to the floor in agonizing pain, holding one of the men's steel swords that had pierced her stomach. Sweat dripped from her forehead as her body heaved in breathless affliction. She looked up at Eriana, her sharp gray eyes filled with tears as her body convulsed.

"Niera!" Eriana cried out as she backed up against the window.

"Eri…" She whispered softly, grimacing.

The men appeared tired, but smiling. One of them grasped hands with the injured man, pulling him up. The other bent down and pulled the sword harshly out of Niera's stomach, its blade painted luminous red. Niera collapsed, crying out in torment as blood seeped through her metal.

"Eriana… Run…" Niera groaned. One of the men kicked her, and she made a coughing yelp in return. She did not turn over.

"Niera!" Eriana then made a rash and naïve decision only those her age would make; she ran over to Niera, touching her body. Her hands glistened with blood. "I'm so sorry. Niera, don't die. Please don't die."

But something hard cracked on Eriana's head, and everything turned black.

~.~

_**The Man**_

A young man leaned against the window, his obsidian eyes glazed over and fixated at the pitch darkness blanketing the world, his mind far elsewhere. It was slow for the afternoon, he thought, as he took a swig of whiskey from his flask. The liquid burned delightfully in his throat.

It was quiet compared to the past few days. After the siege into Sephoria, and the incredible capture of the youngest Princess, King Domonic had been ecstatic. The Castle had been littered with parties and celebrations. The man could still hear the echoes of voices throughout the corridors, of chants and songs, of declarations of glee.

But now it was silent.

The man didn't get to see the girl. He wasn't sure if he wanted to. He had no issue with Sephorians being tortured, but usually they weren't a twelve year old child. There was no doubt that she still deserved death, but…

It was different.

Youth invoked a type of sympathy.

Unlike him, Domonic didn't seem to care about the girl's age. Mercy wasn't exactly a feeling that was common in the King's mindset.

The man let out a slow, thoughtful breath. He brushed his hand over his mouth, rubbing the stubble on his chin, and frowned. He knew why Domonic captured Eriana, and he knew that the girl's fate was going to be worse than death. He knew that Domonic was going to keep her alive.

Eriana was just a substitute, the man also knew. She would assuage Domonic for the time being, but eventually she'd lose her purpose. What Domonic _really_ wanted was Siarya.

"_They'll catch her. I sent out the best this time," Domonic reckoned as he paced in front of the massive fireplace. "Four men trained for assassination."_

"_You've sent out many _bests._ Every time you send an idiot out into the woods, they end up murdered. If it's her you're looking for, she wouldn't have made it past the second night. She's dead," the man said as he rubbed his temple lightly with his thumb. Domonic had been boring him with the same subject for a year now. _

"_The Kingdom is keeping her quiet." Domonic said bluntly, evidently searching for excuses. _

"_Now why," the man exclaimed, agitated. "Would any sensible person do such a thing? She's an ostentatious flake of a girl." _

"_They don't do as I ask!" Domonic lamented angrily. "What good I give to them, my greatness… They all take it for granted. Every single one of them, like scavengers!"_

"_You're the great King. They love you. Maybe even more if you paid attention to them every once and a while." The man spoke with a hint of sarcasm that went unnoticed._

_Domonic whipped around, lost in himself. "Meaning what?"_

"_What's so special about this girl, Domonic?" He asked bitterly. "Why do you make it your life's mission to kill a disintegrating corpse?"_

"_You know _he_ wouldn't have let her get away…" Domonic murmured as he ran his fingers through his lank black hair. "She'll pay for what she did to me. To _us."

_Us,_ the man thought. Domonic hadn't been thinking about the word _us _since the Queen died.

_The man chuckled as he guzzled down a gulp of liquor. "She was a proud child. Naïve and self-absorbed. Be glad that you're ridden of her."_

"_You don't understand," Domonic whined gruffly. "You don't have to think about her. The woman who had tarnished my reputation, the woman who murdered Klaus."_

"_I highly doubt she meant to even kill him. The stab itself was quite messy and honestly it could have been done much better." The man shrugged as he spoke, taking another swig. _

_Domonic grabbed the liquor from the man's hands and threw it into the fireplace. The liquor exploded and the fire furiously roared and danced in return. He glared at Domonic, who was fuming. "I'll throw you out before you disrespect him. If you must be reminded once again, she had a _friend."

"_Go after _him,_ then. Kill someone who's actually swimming with the Royal rainbow fish." He replied hastily as he reached for another bottle._

"_I wouldn't dare move into Sephorian lands just yet. Not right after they've regained their strength," Domonic asserted dryly. He began to pace the room once more. "They did one thing right in the vast ocean of mistakes they have made; sending out their little daughter in hopes that she'd distract me long enough. Then again, they gave me a wondrous plan that developed from the roots of their petty idea that a simple daughter could bewitch me."_

"_Sephorians are harmless." The man remarked dully._

Harmless. The man had used the word _harmless_ for such dangerously prideful people. He knew that many of them didn't fit in that category.

Some of them did, though. Some of them like Siarya, which is what he reckoned he meant when the word_ harmless _fell from his tongue. But that didn't change his opinion on the very nature of Sephorians.

After all, they were the roots of his grief. They had an aura of darkness about them despite their sickening self-proclaimed _purity_. He knew that they were certainly terrifying in some ways; not because they were selfish or cruel, but rather because everything they had ever done, they had done for themselves. They have no laws, no rules that cannot be bent for the sake of their gods-forsaken pride.

People like them knew no boundaries, no limits, and he hated to think of the terrors they've committed in the name of their all-holy, self-righteous dignity.

Sephorians were not Drovanians.

They deserved to be exterminated.

"Ahem." Someone cleared their throat. Brows raised in surprise, he quickly turned to see a woman standing behind him.

She was easily one of the most beautiful women he'd ever laid eyes on. She was tall, slim, and golden-haired. Her eyes were a cold, vivid winter blue. Her body seemed to radiate with a buzzing energy, like a vibrant aura. She appeared to be around her forties but he could tell that age had been kind to her. He couldn't interpret if she was Drovanian or not; some Drovanians had very pale skin instead of the usual grayish tint, and hers was paper-white. He noticed, very wrongly, that there were no markings on her skin.

That wasn't normal.

She wore a long, sequined black gown adorned with raven feathers and sapphires, with sharp, scaled heels for shoes. Her expression was grim as she stood by the fireplace of the room, the firelight silhouetting her form as she arched her back gracefully, her head held high. Although he didn't recognize her at all, her posture gave off a strange elegance as if she were of noble blood.

She had also come out of nowhere; the room had been locked, and he hadn't heard the door open.

"Who are you?" He asked, his eyes narrowing darkly.

"My name is Cassara," she answered. Her voice was smooth and melodic. "And I have come to you with a message."

He tilted his head as he studied her, expression drawn into concentration, his mouth set in a firm line. He took a few steps towards her, his dark eyes boring into hers, "How did you get in here?"

"I am a Witch," she replied flatly. She pursed her rosy lips together in a small smile, "I trust you need no further explanation."

He stopped in his tracks. He felt his muscles go rigid as he took in the information. A _Witch_. Why would a Witch come to him? They were not good women. They were not kind or loving; they were cold and ruthless. The fact that she was here, standing before him, did not mean well for anyone.

"A Witch," he spoke, letting the word dance on his own tongue. Pushing back the throb of fear, he regarded her with a stern look. "What does a Witch want with me?"

"I've come to ask a favor."

The man blinked in puzzlement. He took a step back. This was very unlike a Witch's nature, asking for help from a mortal. Something was definitely off. "A favor?" He said suspiciously. He narrowed his eyes before turning his back on her, walking towards the window once more. "I don't make deals with Witches."

"I am not asking you."

He tensed at the command in her voice, but he didn't turn around to face her. "And my answer remains the same, _Cassara_. I am not interested."

"Even if it has to do with Drovania?" She asked quietly. Hesitantly.

At that, he did turn around, a dark frown marring his expression. His voice was rough, "If you have any wisdom in that pretty head of yours, I suggest you restrain yourself from threatening Drovanian land. That'll be a sure way to get yourself killed, Witch or not."

Cassara gave him a calm, knowing look, obviously unfazed by his threats. "I'm not interested in endangering this Kingdom, boy. If something needs restraining, it'd be your presumptuous attitude."

He clenched his jaw, giving her a cold glare. "What is it that you want?"

Cassara's lips pressed together into a thin line before lifting her head up thoughtfully, as if she were studying him. She took a few steps forward, and then began to pace around the room, her black dress trailing after her. "I know this may seem difficult for you to hear, but I need your help."

"Need _my _help?" He asked bewilderedly.

"I need you to find someone for me," she answered. "Someone very important."

"Why don't you go find them yourself?"

"I can't," she snapped. Her blue eyes flashed with an emotion he couldn't interpret, but he could tell he'd obviously hit a nerve with her. "This girl has been cursed. The magic is too strong, and I cannot physically go to her myself."

"And you want me to...?" He motioned towards the outside of the Castle.

"Find her," she said affirmatively. "She is important, boy. Very important. And I must speak with her."

"And why should I do this for you?"

"Because even Drovania depends on it," she said, a hint of desperation seeping from her voice. Her expression turned grim, and so did the bright aura around her. "Once you find her, you must bring her to me. There, I will explain everything."

"No, you see, _that's_ not going to happen," he said firmly. He let his arms fall to his sides. "You come to me, demanding that I find this girl who I have no affiliation with. I don't care who you are. I'm not going to acquire information after the deed is done. That's not how I work, Witch, and that's not how it's going to be," he paused, letting the words sink in. "This girl… who is she to you, and why is she so important?"

Cassara ducked her head slightly as if she were uncomfortable. Or thinking very deeply. Either way, it took a few long moments for her to answer. "The two of you are in a very ancient, precise, and complicated prophecy that has dated back to the times of fairytales. A darkness is coming, and she needs my help. You both do."

That didn't answer much. He licked his lips as he leaned against a stone wall, his eyes fixated on the Witch in disbelief. "Why should I believe you?"

"Because if you do as I say, then all light will restored to Drovania," she answered finally. "_That _is where Drovania is concerned, boy."

The man could feel the blood in his veins slow as his brain fought to comprehend the words she just spoke. _Light?_

Was it possible?

It'd been so long without light in the dark Kingdom. So many of his kind had tried to find the source of the darkness, but none of them had succeeded. There was no reason, no cause for such despair. It was impossible to think that anyone could bring the light back when no one knew the source of its disappearance. It was impossible to think that light could return, when it had been so long since it last touched Drovanian ground.

"You're lying," he said dryly. He shook his head, "It's not possible."

"It is," she insisted. "I'm not demanding that you trust me. I know what I am to you. I know you dislike my kind, just as much as my kind despises yours. But I wouldn't lie about this. This prophecy concerns me in more ways that you don't understand. If you could do as I ask and find the girl, then I can set her on the right path. I can protect her."

"You're a Witch. You said so, yourself. You don't have a heart, so why do you care to protect some random girl?" He couldn't help but ask. "What's in it for you?"

A glimpse of anger passed over her face. She charged forward at him, eyes alight in blue flame, her face jutting into his. He nearly stumbled back from the force of her energy. She spoke with a rough hiss, "Because she doesn't _know_ who she is! She grew up believing that she was somebody she wasn't, and was praised for it. She grew up _wrong._ But she needs to be set on the right path, the path that has been laid out for her even before she was born—the path marked by the power that rolls through her blood. A darkness is coming, swift and unwavering, and _she _is not ready to face it."

The man remained quiet for a few moments, his eyes connected to the Witch's glowing irises. A strange sensation washed over him. "Who is she?"

She lowered her eyes then. If the man knew better, he'd have guessed the Witch was almost _sad_. "You know her by the name of Siarya Renette."

"You want me to find _her?" _Dread slammed into him like a barreling wall. It felt like his entire body turned to stone.

"Oh, stop it. You're not the King, with all his dangerous morality," she snapped sharply. He glowered at her. "This should be easy for you. You're smart, you're clever, and you're not just a killer," she paused, and then gave him a crimson smile. "You're a perfect soldier."

He hissed in fury, pulling away from her as if he'd been burned. "Don't call me that," he pointed at her defiantly. "I am_ not_ a soldier."

"Perhaps, but you're more of a King than Domonic will ever be," she replied, unbothered by his fury. Her voice grew very soft, "But you know that quite well, don't you?"

"His situation is none of your concern."

"Your unrequited loyalty is incorrigible," Cassara looked away and sighed. "Nevertheless, this favor remains the same. Find Siarya Renette, boy, and bring her to me. Find her, and she will help you bring back all light to your Kingdom."

"I can't." He said, his voice breaking.

Cassara frowned in disapproval. "You can," she said. "You will."

"She's already _dead."_ He spat.

"And you know this for certain?"

"She's been missing for a year," he said angrily. "And she hasn't been sighted _once._ You know why? Because there are monsters out there that would tear her apart if they even caught a whiff of her scent. I can bet on my life that she didn't make it past one night."

"I wouldn't bet your life on that, son," Cassara said, sounding almost a little amused. "Siarya's alive."

He shot her a look. "It's impossible. Drovania is too dangerous. Too many people want her dead."

"She's not dead."

"She is," he snapped. "You have no proof otherwise."

"I have proof enough in my words," she declared warningly. "And you will find Siarya, _alive,_ and you will bring her to me. It is not a request."

He shook his head. "I cannot do that to the King. He wishes her dead. If I do find her—and that is very unlikely—I will have to kill her."

"Are you a puppet?" Fury flashed in the Witch's eyes. She mocked him then, "Does the King hold your strings like the little toy you are?"

"You mistake me for someone who cares," he replied coolly. "I didn't allow you to speak to me for your judgment, Witch, although it's amusing to hear."

"Oh, don't pretend with me. I know who you are," Cassara said with a hiss in her tone. She walked up to face him again. She was a frightening creature. Witches tend to have such intense features, but he stood his ground. "You're the one that Drovania finds frightening. You're the man that everyone hates, because unlike the King—who is stock full of emotions—you're so apathetic and filled with emptiness that you've been called heartless. But you and I _both _know that's not true. You care—you care an awful lot."

"I will have you removed from the premises," he gritted out.

"You want a castle full of dead men?" She inquired. Her lips twitched into another faint, derisive smile. "I can give it to you. I can give it to you with the flick of my wrist," she raised her hand, her fingers glowing with bright verdant energy, it's warmth brushing dangerously against his skin. "I can make their blood boil if I want to. Or, perhaps I could delve into the classics, and turn everyone into toads?"

"Enough."

Cassara's eyes glittered smugly as she lowered her hand. The green energy blew out like a flame. "This is not up for negotiation. I will tell you where Siarya resides, and—"

"You know where she is?" He asked suddenly. No one knew where Siarya fled the night of her escape. Not even Domonic, who made it his primary obsession. No matter where they searched, she had been unfindable. It was like she had disappeared from thin air—her, and the strange man who helped her. The man no one recognized beyond the mask.

To his surprise, she laughed. "I've always known."

"How?"

"Let's just say that a little bird keeps me informed," she replied with ease. "And I will tell you of her whereabouts, too, so don't worry about the wretched search. But when I do, you'll have one duty—you will not tell anyone else. Not the King, not your servants, not even your betrothed," her expression turned very serious. "And if you do, I will kill them before they can open their filthy mouths."

"And if I refuse?" He growled. "If I don't bring Siarya back to you? If I kill her instead?"

Cassara's mouth perked up in a slight smile at the vague threat in his tone. Obviously unfazed by his intimidation, she took hold of his wrist with her slender pale fingers. She forcefully pushed up his sleeve to display his bare arm where a battlefield of scars and black marks scattered across his grayish skin.

She eyed his battle scars with an unreadable expression before she locked eyes with him. Her eyes were a startling glowing blue that glittered bright silver in the firelight. They were intense, like the eyes of a predator. But they were also familiar enough to almost make him uneasy for once. It was not the power that emanated from those eyes that set him off, but the incredible recognition he gained from seeing them.

He began to pull away, but she pulled him forward sharply. She leaned into his space, her ruby lips against his ear, so he could hear her words whispered hotly across his cheek. "You will _not_ refuse me. You will not hurt her, you will not betray her. She will not die in place of you."

A searing, burning pain imprinted itself against the skin of his wrist like the Witch's fingers were a hot iron brand. He felt himself buck over from the feeling. He held in his grunts of pain as his fingers moved to curled around his wrist, his knuckles white with agony. He heard the Witch chuckle and his own voice, sounding far away.

"What did you do to me?" He gasped.

Cassara hummed softly, "I put a leash on you."

"_A leash?"_ He caught the Witch's eye as he managed to regain his posture, the pain on his wrist still burning into the bone, into his blood. He stared at his skin, but no matter how much he stared at it, there was no mark visible. No burn.

"Only for precaution, my dear."

"What did you do?" He asked again as he flexed his hand, the skin above the veins in his wrist tingling as if his arm had fallen asleep. He hissed at the searing pain that danced underneath.

"You will remember my words," Cassara stepped forward towards him, and he had a strange urge to back away from her. "You do anything to threaten this mission, and you will soon feel your consequences to the most extreme extent. I warned you."

"You_ bitch," _he snarled, pressed the pad of his thumb against his tingling wrist. As if _he_ needed something to remind him of the consequences of doing things. He was not a dog someone could simply train. "Whatever you did to me, I will find a way to undo."

She laughed. This time, it was more like a loud cackle, but a laugh nonetheless. "I wish you good luck with such a feat."

He glared at her. "You'd really curse me into finding this girl?"

"I'd curse you to make sure she's returned to me alive." She snarled. Her aura brightened suddenly in fiery energy.

"Returned?"

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "She lives in a rebel camp on the outskirts of Vortrea, inside the Sosoris Forest. They're hidden by the dead trees and the darkness that comforts them," she took in a slow breath before continuing, "It won't be long until Siarya discovers that her little sister has been kidnapped by the King. Once she does find out, she will do everything in her power to break her out. She will leave the Forest."

_The Forest,_ he thought. All this time, after all the torturous searches, she had been hiding out in the Forest. Not that the Kingdom soldiers hadn't gone into the dead woods to look for her, but no one actually believed that she'd survived in there. They had been looking for scraps of her body.

"That doesn't leave me very much time," he grinded out.

"Yes, so I suppose you'll have to hurry then." She replied, her brow raising pointedly.

"I never agreed to this."

"You just did," she snapped. Her eyes flicked to his wrist. "You want to live? I suggest you keep Siarya alive."

His hands turned into fists. "Why me? Why not ask some—some hunter, or tracker, or any other fucking person to do your damn dirty work?"

"Because you're part of this, too."

"_How?"_

"If you bring Siarya to a manor that borders the frozen Demetrius Sea, I will tell you." She answered then. As if that would satisfy him, somehow.

He couldn't help but scowl. "The only place that borders the Demetrius Sea is the Enchanted Forest. Why there?"

"Because that is where I reside," she replied flatly. "And that is where all of your questions shall be answered."

Did she think him stupid? "That Sea borders the Forest for miles. Your manor could be anywhere."

"Bring Siarya Renette, and you will know the way." She replied. _Great,_ he thought agitatedly. _That's real helpful._

She began to walk away from him.

"And if I don't find her?" He asked, the thought quickly occurring to him. She paused in her tracks.

"Then you will surely die," Cassara replied, looking over her shoulders. There was no threat in her voice, no anger, but only the sense of warning, "Remember my words. Remember my curse. If you want to save your Kingdom and everything you hold dear, you will find Siarya. You will leave Domonic out of this. You will protect her with all your might, boy, or you _will_ perish."

At that, her body twisted into smoke and flame, and with a bright sapphire light, she disappeared from the room.


	14. After the Dark

**AN: **Wow, this chapter was hella long. Like 22 pages long. And it took forever to edit, and I'm still not 100% sure it's the best it could be (because 22 pages is a LOT of editing). But I did the best I could, flow-wise.

I just wanna do a shout out to my first reviewer, because their words literally made my heart jump with joy (no, really, it totally came out of my chest like in those cartoons. It was wacky) and it spurred me on to finish this chapter. **CeCe303**, thank you for my very *first* review! You're the reason the chapter was posted sooner than later! You're awesome.

Feel free to do more reviews. They make me write faster. They're like the batteries of my bunny. (That doesn't sound weird at all...)

Okay, onto the chapter.

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

**After the Dark**

_**Eriana**_

Her eyes stung when she opened them, salty from the tears she had shed before. It was dark. The feeling of metal against her wrists made her jolt, from which everything had come rushing back to her. Drovanians had attacked. Niera was wounded.

And... her head hurt. She hesitantly touched the wound at her temple, and it throbbed at her touch. Crusted dried blood plated the side of her face.

There were metal cuffs around her small wrists, which she pulled to no avail. She was chained to the wall to be forced to sit on the mucky ground, unable to stand. Studying the area, she realized she was in a cell with rusted iron bars. A dungeon with no light but the flickering of a torch that was lit further down the hallway.

It was silent. No one was here. All she could feel was terror.

_Where am I? _Eriana thought frantically, still restlessly pulling at her chains. She reached for the bars, but the metal held her back. Was she in a dungeon?

She flexed her fingers experimentally, wondering if it was possible to blow the chains off her wrists. But when she tried, no energy came to her disposal. No power thrummed under her skin.

Grunting, she closed her eyes and concentrated. She imagined pulling her magic from inside, from wherever it resided in her body, to her wrists—to blow off the shackles.

She opened her eyes. Nothing happened.

Maybe she was too weak. But weak from what? Did they torture her?

She wasn't dead—obviously. _I would notice if I were dead, _she thought wryly. Why didn't they kill her?

Why did they just _take_ her?

Eriana knew she was lucky to be alive. The problem was how to maintain it. Wherever she was, wherever the Drovanians had taken her, she knew it wasn't good. She lay there, limply, without a word. A low whistle caught her attention from up high, and she felt a few hairs on the back of her neck rise to a sudden chill. _Wind._

She turned her body around, peering upwards. A half-moon shaped window sat there, too small for her to wriggle through, even without the bars. But it was enough to see the black sky, too dark for the luminous Sephorian nights, withholding such a menacing aura that loomed over her. It was not night. It was daytime.

She was in an evil place, a place where not even Sephorian warriors would want to venture into. She was inside her worst nightmare.

_Oh Gods, _she thought with dread. She clutched the chains tightly. _No…_

She was in the Drovanian Castle.

~.~

_**Evermarie**_

"We sent soldiers out to Amontae the moment we heard Drovanians were attacking," her father explained as Evermarie leaned shakily onto a window pane. She was wearing a heavy cloak over her long, expensive shimmering gown of dark silk. The cloak did not flatter her well; in fact, it made her appear rather large. "It was too late when we realized that they had come around and attacked Eloraia from behind."

The King was talking, and Evermarie was listening avidly, but the Queen stood separately on the other side of the large nest. Her expression was one of disdain, and it grew darker as the King spoke.

Evermarie looked away from her mother's face, and instead focused on her father's words, and on the nest, adorned perfectly like a parlor. But it was really a prison. A safe house, so-to-speak, but a place that they could not leave. A huge firepit crackled in the middle of the nest. It was still dark from the terrorizing events that clutched the atmosphere; night was arriving with her starry beauty but there was no admiration in this. The darkness was where their enemies lay.

"How could she have disgraced us like this? How could she have this shame put upon us, only to lose Eriana?" Evermarie spoke of Siarya as the King paused in his speech. The Queen grew very still.

"My sweet Eriana… My poor, innocent child…" The King murmured. His eyes grew somber.

Evermarie didn't know what to think. She had been two years of age when Siarya was brought in to her life, a shining new baby girl with such spirit it was hard to keep up with. She had been a wild child, always dashing after fireflies and kicking people's shins under the dining table. She had never _really_ behaved, until... Well, until she met a Drovanian in a forest, that is.

Evermarie had grown from loving her to abhorring every ounce of rebellion that Siarya sought out. She learned that it brought about trouble; everything Siarya wanted brought things that Royalty either didn't need or certainly shouldn't be a part of. She even despised part of Siarya when she had gone through her ridiculous William-stage. She was so incorrigible, so _naïve_. Evermarie had once believed that William didn't deserve her beautiful younger sister, but now it was twisted into the opposite. William deserved so much more than a stupid, disloyal, and brainless child. He deserved a real woman.

Siarya had left William and had never spoken of why. She never truly talked to Evermarie in general. She remained always so distant, never complete without the illusion of her faultless superiority, only talking to Eriana. Because, somehow, Eriana was more worthy than Evermarie.

But now Eriana was gone. Perhaps dead, because of Siarya's actions. This wasn't just another run-in with a Drovanian. She had gone too far this time. There was no going back.

The King was breathing heavily, and Evermarie could see his eyes were glistening in the firelight. Tears. Her mighty father was on the verge of shedding weakness. Evermarie gasped, turning away from it. She could not handle this.

"King Domonic has declared that he will hold Eriana until the Summer Solstice unless we give up the throne to our Kingdom." The Queen said quietly. It was the first time she'd spoken in a long time, and Evermarie couldn't help but notice in disdain that it wasn't even about Eriana—not really. It was about the war.

The gods-forsaken war. The first words that came out of her mother's mouth, and it was about the _war_. Evermarie turned her head, refusing to speak out against the Queen, but she couldn't keep the anger from seeping out of her voice as she spoke, "Obviously, mother—I mean, we cannot submit. King Domonic would ravage the Kingdom if we gave him what he wants."

"We are stronger than giving into submission, indeed," the King agreed, sending Evermarie an almost affectionate look. Her heart fluttered with pride, "We have fought in this war for many, many years. We can endure their wrath like no other, and we will succeed in this war. Everything we have done, everything we are destined to be—it will unravel before us."

The Queen, standing still by the window, grew even more timid. Her aura was cold and unforgiving. Then, just barely audible, she whispered, "How could you say that?"

The King peered over to his wife in mild surprise. "Pardon?"

She turned to look at him then, her expression stony. "How could you imply that you've had any part of this war, other than wearing the title as the Kingdom's monarch?"

His hazel eyes darkened threateningly, making Evermarie nervous. His voice turned rough, "You are treading into dangerous grounds."

"Am I?" The Queen's voice wavered. Her face twisted with grief. "Our daughters are gone, Sanctus. Both of them."

"She is _not_—"The King started forward, his expression full of fury, but he glanced at Evermarie, almost hesitantly, "She is not our daughter, Genevieve. Not… not anymore."

Evermarie assumed they were speaking of Siarya. Fury thrummed under her skin, and she couldn't help but turn away from her parents, staring into the bright flames of the firepit. She wondered if Siarya was even alive. Did she feel remorse for her disobedience?

"She is, Sanctus," Genevieve said softly. So solemn, so heartbroken. "She is."

"No, mother," Evermarie couldn't help but interrupt. She shook her head, her eyes not leaving the fire, "Siarya isn't one of us, anymore. Did you forget? Her crimes are too drastic. She has doomed us all, practically leaving us for dead, due to her sinful ideas of rebellion. It was her choice to kill that Morgenstern man."

Her parents exchanged odd looks, their eyes flitting to Evermarie, their expression wary. The Queen sucked in a breath.

"Genevieve…" The King murmured, almost pleadingly. Evermarie's words were quickly ignored. "You should've never have sent her there."

"Never have..?" The Queen gasped. She looked at the King as if he'd grown a second head. She charged forward, defensiveness whirling in her gray eyes. "Of course you'd say that, Sanctus. You don't know what it's like to make such decisions."

"Perhaps. But I know where my loyalties lie." He snapped back.

Evermarie frowned. "Mother, father… please, this isn't the time for—"

"You think my loyalty isn't to this Kingdom?" The Queen cried, her expression hard and unkind. Then, brokenly, "To _her?"_

The King snarled, "What good have you been to her? You and I both know your contribution in this, upon Siarya's—"

"—I did everything in my power to protect our children, Sanctus. Where were you?" She asked. Her voice was loud, demanding, and the King flinched under her question. The nest became stiflingly silent except for the low hiss of the fire. Evermarie fumbled with the threads of her gown, unsure of the topic of her parent's argument. The Queen spoke again, her voice quieter, "_Where were you,_ Sanctus?"

The King swallowed visibly, his eyes trained on his wife. His expression was one of grief, but there was no hint of guilt in his tone, "I cannot stand to be at your side, knowing the decisions you've promoted, the alliances you have made. What makes you think I could stand returning to the Hollow, only to see the beginning of Siarya's demise?"

"Not her demise," the Queen whispered. Her eyes glistened with the start of tears, _"Never_ that, Sanctus. Everything I did, I did for _her_. To keep her from _Him."_

"And now she is dead," he spat. He turned away from her, his lips thinning out in a painful grimace. "And you have gained us nothing."

"Who is He?" Evermarie asked, her voice cautious.

Her parents glanced her way. The King huffed, turning his head in anger, while the Queen frowned and said blankly, as if rehearsed, "King Domonic, dear."

"_Enough lies!"_ The King roared. He pointed at Evermarie, "How many times will you lie to our children, Genevieve?"

The Queen's jaw clenched in warning. "Sanctus."

He grew silent. His eyes were still hard with fury, his lips pressed together in disagreement, but he raked his fingers over his beard and shook his head. It was a gesture of dismissal.

"Evermarie," the Queen spoke, and Evermarie looked over at her mother with a jolt. "Your father and I have some things to discuss. Please wait outside."

"But—"Evermarie said in protest. "I don't—"

"Now, Marie." Her mother demanded.

Evermarie lowered her head in submission before reluctantly exiting the nest. The large, wooden doors closed shut with a snap, but she could still hear the hum of her parent's voices.

"Tell me," she heard her mother speak. "If you were in my place, so many years ago, what would you have done?" She paused, her voice breaking. "Under _His_ thumb, what clever plan would you have come up with? What would you have done, to keep everyone safe? To protect our Kingdom, our family—or to save _her."_

"I would've—"he began, but then stopped with a choke.

"Knowing the truth about her," her mother continued softly. "Would you have looked into her eyes as an infant, and killed her at the spot?"

The Evermarie's face turned ashen. Was she hearing correctly? Why would her mother say such a thing?

"Never!" The King sputtered, sounding just as disturbed.

"Just as I thought," her mother spoke, her voice tearful. "Our baby, our child… I know you'll never love Siarya. I know you'll never love me. But Gods, don't forget about her. Please, Sanctus. Blame me for her circumstances, but don't you _dare_ give up on her. Don't give up on your daughter."

"I do," her father whispered, just barely audible. "I do love her."

The nest inside was thrown into silence after the King's confession. Evermarie stood at the doorway, the back of her head pressed against the wood. Her breath was ragged as she listened to her parent's words over and over in her mind, unsure of what to make of anything. They spoke of events from years ago—how long ago? She wondered. Her mother spoke of King Domonic, but she knew that Sephorians had never worked with the evil King before Siarya's marriage proposal. If it wasn't King Domonic, then who was the _Him_ they spoke of?

Her father spoke of dark alliances. With whom? The Drovanians?

Or something else?

And the way they spoke of Siarya, it was as if she were cursed. To even mention _killing _her as an infant, it was insane. For her mother to doubt father's love for Siarya, there was surely something amiss.

Did her parents know something about Siarya that no one else did?

Was her sister cursed?

_Evil?_ Evermarie dared to wonder. Siarya murdered a man. Had killed him in cold-blood, throwing the Kingdom into despair. Did she do it for entertainment? Did it liberate her, somehow, after being raised so strictly?

Did she murder out of the frustration of being confined by the proper life of Royalty? After being exiled, would she come after her family in vengeance, teeth bared like the Drovanian savage she has most likely become, with innocent blood on her hands?

_Gods,_ Evermarie thought with dread. If Siarya was alive, what has she become, now? Her little sister, so selfish and ignorant by nature… her ivory skin mutilated with scars and the hue of gray, her bright blue eyes transformed into those of a soulless predator, her teeth sharped into razor points. _She'd be a monster._

"A monster," Evermarie murmured breathlessly. She pressed her palm into her stomach, eyes peering upwards towards the branched ceiling of the corridor. Siarya, her little sister. Siarya, the one Evermarie despised. Siarya, the everlasting point of attention by everyone and everything. Siarya, the one who failed the world.

Siarya, the cursed.

~.~

_**Siarya**_

Siarya screamed.

The sky was bright with millions of stars, breaking through the everlasting blackness that sprawled across the sky. There was a thick, gray mist looming over her. Stones rose out of the ground as it broke open, revealing hot frighteningly red cracks, fire and steam drifting from the breakage. Dragon statues with mutated faces reached out for her as they crawled out of the openings like hordes of spiders.

They cried for her, yearning for her touch. Her attention. Hands outstretched, begging to be loved.

Like she was their mother.

"_Catalina!"_ Eriana appeared in the mist, a fragile vision. Afraid and more lost than anything. But there. She was real. Siarya was close to home.

_Finally,_ she thought. _I'm going home._

"What's going on?" Siarya asked, confused by her sister's fear, but Eriana didn't answer. She merely stared at Siarya with her hard brown eyes, so full of judgment. "Who is Catalina?"

Eriana pointed at someone behind Siarya. Her eyes flashed onyx black, leaving no whites behind.

"_Demon!" _She hissed, her face contorting in fury. "Could they love us, sister?"

"Eri…" Siarya gasped. Who was_ they?_

Eriana's twisted, gruesome face grinned at her. Her voice was musical, _"Behind you."_

Before she could turn around, Siarya stood there horrified as Eriana's body vanished into smoke.

Roots from the ground struck her ankles and wrists. They tightened around her, holding her body to the ground so she couldn't fly away. They pulled her back, pinning her to the grass.

There wasn't any grass in Drovania.

But then the scene changed in a whirl of color. It seemed to happen in a split second as she was suddenly turned right-side-up, still pinned, but this time against the wall like she was a picture nailed to wood, or forced to be a fly on the wall.

A woman—the same woman who visited her within every dream now— was huddled in the middle of the wide open parlor, sitting still upon the same soft fur rug, wearing a long white gown made in silk. The usual array of candles surrounded her as if she were casting some sort of spell. No, she _was_ casting a spell. Siarya knew that now. Watching the scene unfold like many times before, she just knew.

Sounds escaped her lips as the woman attempted to soothe the crying tiny child she kept close to her chest. The infant was wrapped tightly in furs—her father's furs—so that she could remember the familiar scent of him; strangely, Siarya could smell it herself as if her nose was buried inside those furs as well. It was a light, woody and masculine scent that sent warm shivers across her skin.

The baby continued to cry, and the woman rocked her almost desperately, wishing for her to be quiet. Siarya now knew that the mother was trying to protect her; they must be hiding. But something really wrong was etched into the woman's blurred face. The candles' flames hissed at the dark entity close by as they were the only thing standing in its way. Time was vanishing. The woman moaned, holding the baby close.

The woman hummed sweet lullabies into her baby's ear. But as the woman did this, Siarya could feel delicate lips pressed against her own temple; the sweet and gentle songs that the woman spoke into her baby's ear could be heard like a whisper against Siarya's own ears, even feeling the tickle of her warm breath. It was uneven with grief and fear. Dread filled the house.

"_Shhh_, it's going to be okay," the woman murmured as she buried her face into the damp furs. The words sounded as if they were right next to Siarya's own ears. "It's going to be okay, love, I promise. Don't cry, baby. Be quiet for mama now. You have to be quiet."

The glass in the windows shattered open and rained against the woman and the shivering baby girl. A golden shield—shockingly created by some kind of magic— blocked the shards, but the wooden door splintered in impact to the intruder and it was blown into the room with a blinding flash of strength. The woman ducked, hovering over her baby, as the door flew over their head, just like always.

Lightning flashed and a woman stood at the doorway, sodden with rain, but illuminated with gifted power. Siarya gaped. For the first time since her kidnapping, the woman at the door was not silhouetted. Her identity was not pitch black. Siarya could _remember._

The silky, hypnotizing voice rang out. "It's time."

Something inside of her crashed and landed against the hard-wooded floor covered in shattered glass.

The Queen.

The woman at the door was the Queen. _Her _mother.

She could remember it, now. She had dreamed of her mother's face in the carriage, so suddenly, so vividly before the attack—she hadn't realized—she hadn't thought about it, having been so distracted. She could remember her mother's expression, so full of fear, plagued with sorrow, identical to the face Siarya saw now, standing in the doorway.

Then she saw it. Something tall and pitch black moving towards her. Siarya felt recognition. She felt_ terror. _

The ceiling disappeared, and the open stars above began to swirl into a circular, spinning diagram, like a spinning wheel. Her mother, the woman and her baby disappeared and her vision was replaced with the face of a monster with pointed scales that adorned its reddish skin. Its eyes pierced into hers, a bright yellow, like two bright stars. The roots, returning around her wrists and ankles, tightened painfully, and she was suddenly pinned against the grass again.

Siarya screamed. She felt claws began to stroke the softness of her arm, leaving streaks of red. Soon the nails dug into her skin and she felt hot blood escape her body. It burned as though her blood was made of melted iron.

The creature leaned down into her face. She could feel its breath against her cheeks. A long black tongue snaked from its lips. She turned her head in disgust, her tears soaking in the dirt from the ground. But the creature forced her head towards his with his scaled fingers.

A long, pointed tongue escaped its slippery lips. Siarya struggled, but the tongue reached down and stroked her mouth with the tip, tasting her. She choked in disgust, struggling against the roots that bound her, but they did not budge.

Then his claws dug into her breasts, dragging down her torso and around her waist. It left long streaks of red down her body, making it feel as though knives were slicing her open from the inside.

"Sia," it whispered into her ear. It groaned.

The creature slowly moved down her body and stopped at her hips. He scraped at her pants, leaving slight tears in the fabric. She struggled to no avail. All she could do was scream, but even she couldn't hear herself.

"Sia!"

The ground began to shake, and the creature pounced off of her. The roots released her from their stronghold, and she was free. The creature disappeared with large, scaled wings into the sky, screeching. Like a dragon.

"_Siarya!"_ The ground was still shaking when she opened her eyes. But it wasn't the ground. She was the one being shaken.

Her body was drenched with sweat. She was tangled in the sheets of her bed, her mouth open enough for her to realize that she had been screaming. Alana held her by the shoulders, her face mixed with fear and concern. "Siarya, child, are you alright?"

Siarya, shaking, gripped Alana's arms frantically. She couldn't find her voice to answer.

Ben and Lionel stood at the entrance of the tent, their faces drenched with concern.

"I'm fine," Siarya whispered as she shakily wiped the sweat from her face. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Siarya snapped, perhaps a bit harsher than necessary. She rubbed her eyes with her palm. "Please, just go. I'm fine. I'm sorry I woke you."

"Get some sleep." Ben replied calmly. He didn't seem relieved. Siarya nodded hesitantly as she lay back down onto the cushions.

She didn't close her eyes.

"Ben, Lionel… May I speak with you for a moment?" Alana asked quietly as she exited the tent with the men.

Siarya could imagine them gathering together in the dark, somewhat distanced from the tent. Alana, with her concerned expression and the others with looks of dread.

"_I'm worried about her,"_ imaginary Alana would say, _"This is her sixth nightmare in the past two weeks. It can't be normal."_

Was it the sixth? Siarya wondered. It felt like more than that. Nevertheless, her imagination trekked on.

"_It was just a dream, Alana,"_ Ben, always the camp psychologist, would assure her calmly. _"Things like this happen all the time. It's normal for a young mind to be corrupted with fears, especially during a subconscious state."_

"_It's not just that. I'm worried about what Azariel's been teaching her. It's too violent for her age." _Alana would then say worriedly—a statement Siarya has heard many times in the past year. A statement that haunted her.

"_She's seventeen. Azariel's been teaching her how to survive." _

"_Murdering people is not a way of survival. It's a way of becoming worse than the enemy."_

Siarya lay there, unable to think of anything more. She felt nauseated. She didn't want to listen to what they were talking about, because she already knew. She didn't have to fight to imagine it all. How they really felt about her; how much of a monster they really thought she was. Killing was bad, she knew that. But in this case, it is killed or be killed. No mercy. Its things that some people aren't able to comprehend, but she did. She won over her adversaries; she had become what others had doubted she could be. She remembered what Azariel told her.

"_Killing is supposed to be wrong." Siarya said furiously. _

_Azariel gave her a hard look. "That's what they taught you."_

"_If it's not wrong, then what is it?"_

"_You're a rebel, Siarya. You do what you must to survive. You are the falling card in the collapse of social classes; when society crumbles, it will be those simple morals taught to little children that will be discarded first. When survival is scarce, morals don't matter."_

Morals _do _matter, Siarya had persisted. They had to.

There was something wrong with herself. Something wrong with her dreams. But most of all, there was something about her own mother that she couldn't place. It couldn't be a coincidence, that after seventeen years of having this nightmare, that the intruder was the Queen. _Why her? _

Why have the same nightmare, over and over again? What was the point?

Siarya closed her eyes, but she didn't go back to sleep. She never did, after nightmares like that. She was becoming sick of the recurring scene, of the endless terror that leaked from the dream. It wasn't her own terror, no—it was a kind of fear that came out of nowhere, like experiencing a storybook character's emotions firsthand. A fear that didn't belong to her.

The nightmares had doubled in the past year since her exile. Each night they become more vivid and more frightening than before. The circling, hidden monsters, the crying baby, the scared mother, the dragon creature—

Actually, the dragon was new. It was a part of the nightmare that Siarya hated the most. The way it touched her… it felt _dirty._ She hated it. It was frustrating, she thought, to not understand the reason behind the unnecessary dreams. It all felt like it was leading up to something, but she didn't know what.

Alana never came back to the tent. Morning came, cold and dark as ever. Siarya stiffly crawled out of bed, moving over to the cauldron to make breakfast. Outside the tent was quiet other than the distant scratching of dead branches swaying in the wind, so she sang softly under her breath.

Most mornings were like this. She'd get up, face the inevitable winter of Drovania, make breakfast, and pretend that there was Starlight streaming through the crack of the tent's entrance. She'd pretend that there was birdsong to sing along to. That there was life outside of this Gods-forsaken tent.

She'd pretend that she was still the same girl she was a year ago, when she was brought into the camp. That she hadn't spent the past twelve months with Azariel and his teachings, that she still had some dignity left. That she was still _normal._

It was beginning to get harder to pretend nowadays.

"Oh, Sia. I'm so sorry I wasn't around when you woke up. Thank you so much for starting breakfast. I've just been so—"Alana burst into the tent, but lost her breath as she hastily set two large crates on the floor. _"Ack!_ Those boys' scrap metal is heavy."

"You know," Siarya spoke with a sly grin as she stirred the soup. Ben and Mark were working on their third invention this year. Apparently this one was going to be big. "I could always help with the heavy stuff. I know they make you lift things like that. It's going to hurt your back someday."

"Sweetheart, my back is long past fixing." Alana replied, wincing as she sat down on her little bed.

"Breakfast is almost done," Siarya indicated the cauldron, which Alana smiled at and nodded. "It's just leftovers. I thought it'd be okay heated up. Do you need help with anything?"

"Yes, uh," she answered, breathing rather heavily. She sat up and advanced towards the cauldron to pour the soup into a wooden cup. "Azariel said he wanted you after breakfast. He's—well, you know where he is. You can go find him when you're ready."

Siarya pursed her lips. Of course Azariel wanted her. He was always looking for entertainment. It wasn't hard to look past the fact that Siarya had become his favorite toy to play with. He treated her more like an object than a person—when he wasn't praising her for dark things, like how fast she can slice through flesh with a knife.

"_You are durable enough to kill one man, but that's not enough. You'll need to know how to kill twenty."_

"_How?" Siarya had asked, feeling sick. Why?_

"_I'll show you how," he told her. His golden eyes were alight with excitement, like two flames in the night. "Not everything is about your own physical abilities, Siarya. Sometimes you have to improvise. It's not all about strength— it's about how much you want them to die."_

Siarya flinched. She liked Azariel sometimes, but he frightened her. He's made her do things in the past year that she didn't want to think about. He's saved her enough times to trust him, to understand that she desperately _needed_ him, but she didn't have to respect him.

That is what he does to people, she realized. Azariel made people _need _him.

That was his power. His leverage.

Alana was watching her with a strange look when Siarya didn't answer. Swallowing dryly, Siarya nodded towards her in acknowledgment before collecting some soup for herself. She ate in silence.

After she finished breakfast, she gave Alana a quick, half-hearted smile before leaving the tent.

"Sia!" Ben called out cheerfully, grabbing her by the shoulders. It would have startled her if she hadn't been used to it already from the months of accompanying the male couple with their work. "You haven't tried the peddler, have you?"

"Ben, I can't right now—"Siarya protested, laughing as she pushed him away gently. "Az needs me. You know how he is when he gets pissy."

"It'll take only a second." Ben pushed her forward into his workplace where Mark was tinkering with a smoking machine.

"Ben…" Mark murmured in his concentration. His eyes were fixated on his work, his forehead split into creases from his furrowed brows. "You know better than to let her near our projects."

"Yes, dear, but she's the only one brave enough to try them."

Mark turned his head with an eyebrow raised. "She makes our machines explode."

Siarya's face reddened. She had caused various machines in their workshop to catch on fire at random, including a miniature bomb they had constructed that had blown up a little shack that had contained piles of scrap metal. "It's not like I do it on purpose, Mark.'

"Come here, Sia." Ben ushered her onto a wooden scale. The contraption looked like some kind of clock, but with a sort of torch on the top instead of a face that tells time. A long bronze wire snaked downwards around the metal pole, under the wood that she stood upon.

"What exactly is this going to do?" Siarya questioned as she studied the rather dicey device. "It's not going to make _me_ explode, is it?"

"Shhh." Ben silenced her.

Siarya felt herself blanch. "What kind of answer is that?"

He ignored her, and pulled a lever signaling a mechanism that made a clicking noise. The machine groaned, and she saw a spot of light traveling up the wire. Mesmerized, she yelped as the top of the contraption exploded with a bright blue blast, sending out sparks like cannons.

Ben jumped, clapping non-stop and giggling like a little child. "Oh, it was better than I had hoped it would be!"

"The explosion was meant to happen, right?" Siarya asked as she raked her fingers through her singed hair. "That, you know, wasn't my fault?"

"Your weight was just the right amount to set off the perfect jolt of energy to the top of the fire torch, giving out signals of high-level shock." Ben answered simply as he reversed the lever on the machine. Siarya shook her head slightly, lost.

"_What?" _

Ben waved his hand dismissively. "You wouldn't know."

"Fine then," Siarya scoffed, her tone mixed with a mimicked rudeness. "I'll just leave, and I'll take my ignorance with me."

"You're not ignorant, sweetheart," Mark announced kindly from his workplace. "You're just not an expert, professional, scientific inventor like us."

"Since when have you added _expert_ and _professional _to your master title? Am I given no credit for being your test subject for the past year?" She exclaimed, acting shocked. "I am entirely offended."

"She's got a point. We could have killed her by now." Ben admitted cheerfully as he walked over to Mark to hand him a tool. Mark took it gratefully. He seemed to be working on some kind of metal mechanism. It appeared to be large, wiry, and technological.

"Exactly!" Siarya pointed out, satisfied. "Which means both of you should give me a title from now on."

"Ooh, I've got one," Mark rang out. "How about lab rat?"

Ben sniggered, despite Siarya's sharp glower. "Nice one, dear."

"Thanks. I thought of it myself." Mark replied proudly.

"You're both insufferable," Siarya exclaimed. "I don't know why I help you."

"Because we're the only ones who satisfy your fetish for explosions," Ben replied without hesitation. Before Siarya could protest, he asked, "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

Siarya scowled. "What time is it?"

Mark looked over at her, amused. "What does _'it'_ mean in the question 'what time is it'?"

"I don't know? Time?"

"What time is time?" Ben asked.

"Oh, shut up," Siarya snapped. "Just tell me the time, boys, before I force it out of you."

There was no way of telling time in Drovania. Unfortunately, only the "expert", "professional", "scientific inventor" couple had the determination to take their time on reading their precious dial she so despised. The dial, much like a Stardial in Sephorian lands, measured the amount of darkness by the hour. Mark and Ben claimed that even the blackest darkness could leave shadows.

Siarya thought it was a load of shit. Dark was dark—she couldn't read it to save her life.

"Just tell me." She begged.

"I don't know. Check the dial." Ben replied as he ignored her glare.

"I don't understand why no one here ever wants to steal a clock from the villages."

"Clocks are overrated. Who wants a clock when you can have a darkness dial?" Mark said happily as he placed his new gadget on a dead stump.

"I'd rather be overrated than try to figure out that mess." Siarya complained.

"Isn't Azariel expecting you?"

"Why do you think I want to know the time?" Siarya asked. Peering over, she pulled out a dagger she had thrown into a dead tree a few days ago. "Why is this still here? Nobody ever seems to take my weapons."

"That's because no one wants to get involved with you and your knives," Mark eyed her daggers pointedly. "Sharp little buggers you have there."

Siarya threw the dagger in the air lightly, catching it as if it were a simple stick. "They're very convenient, you know."

"I'm sure Azariel told you many things about convenience," Ben smirked with a glimmer of curiosity. "Have you beaten him yet since he has taught you?"

Her eyes glittered with eerie glorification. "Of course I have."

"Mhmm." He murmured as he tightened a gear. She could tell he didn't believe her.

"I'm leaving now," Siarya declared finally, backing away. "And you're not going to distract me anymore."

"Are you sure? We might need you to test something else out—"

"Intriguing, but no. Az needs me. He's probably running around in the trees right now like a five-year old child." Siarya couldn't help but roll her eyes.

"Go then, Sia. I'm sure he's ecstatic right now due to your tardiness."

Holding back a snarky remark, Siarya then turned and ran into the forest where Azariel always was; waiting in the trees, lurking like the stalker she always called him.

The forest was still the same, even after a year. It was numbing to think that she ever felt afraid of these woods; shadowed, gray, and dismally spooky as it may be, it was never more dangerous than the place from which she came. Because Sephoria was in the ruins of rebellion and her family had entirely exiled her from returning, the lifeless forest had become a wondrous safe haven, but she knew it wasn't enough. Not right now.

If she knew what she wanted, perhaps she could find it. _Am I lonely? No. I love these people. They take care of me. They understand me._

_Then what do I want?  
_It could be the need for adventure. Then again, living with a group of bandits inside a dead, ravaged forest filled with insane creatures hardly called for a simple lifestyle. The dull cage of Royalty had suffocated her, yes, but it had been _home._ Living in the midst of six men—plus a woman and a boy—who didn't give a rat's ass about how she acted or what she looked like, was just weird. She could run around naked for all they cared.

Well, except Arturo. He'd probably faint, the poor teenager.

There was something sad about this, though. A little strange, too. The thought of staying like this forever, hidden in the shadows of the decaying woods sent a startling tremor through her body. Eventually she would step away from the ghost of herself; she knew she would have to. There was only so much she could take before she wouldn't be able to stand being invisible to the outside world.

_I have everything I need, _Siarya thought, bewildered. _Why must I feel like I have to do something else?_

Maybe it was because she missed her family. She missed Eriana, the feeling of having a sister, or even how she missed Niera like crazy. Or maybe she was just going through a mid-life crisis at seventeen. Siarya chuckled softly to herself, but stopped abruptly when she heard a cracking sound ahead.

She immediately shrunk into the darkness, scrutinizing every movement. Something was off. Azariel hardly walked on land; it was his duty to be on watch-out. That's why he always hid in the trees where invaders least expected him.

The group doesn't hunt in this region, anyways. These visitors were foreign.

Two men bustled through the copper-colored bushes and weeds, one of them cutting the tangled deceased plantation with his glittering sword. Siarya squinted, recognizing them easily by their Drovanian armor and skin.

Domonic's soldiers. She knew very well that he considered her alive because of his obvious attempts to kill her, but his knights have never gotten this far inside the forest. A mile forward and they'll be walking straight into her camp.

Her group had multiple swordsmen along with a few archers. They could take the knights on, but she couldn't take a chance with Jesse, or even Arturo.

After all, the knights were looking for her, and only her. If that's the case, it'll be only her they were going to find.

One of the knights was unprepared. Siarya cut him off with a quick throw of a knife. It tore through his throat, and he clutched his neck as he choked, falling to the ground. His companion ignored his fellow soldier and advanced towards her, obviously unfazed.

She gritted her teeth as he made a swipe with his sword which she easily maneuvered herself around. She didn't speak to him—she didn't make a sound. She never did with her kills. It wasn't her job to taunt her victims. It wasn't for pleasure or entertainment. It was for her obligation to the camp.

At least, so she told herself.

He swung his sword down on her once more, which she dodged. He was slow compared to her. She took this advantage to attach herself to his arm and twist it backwards, causing it to make a sickly crack signaling a broken bone. He cried out in pain, and she forced herself not to listen.

She kneed him in the gut, and then the neck with her elbow where he collapsed face-first into the ground.

She knelt on top of him. Sucking in a breath, she forced her mind to go blank. She then grasped his head with her hands, and made a sharp twist. His spine protruded from the scarred skin of his gray neck with a painful snapping crack. He lay limp in the decayed shrubbery, his neck broken.

But that wasn't it. Another guard burst into the scene. He caught sight of her, then the bodies, and immediately called out for backup. She then wondered exactly how _many_ troops Domonic had actually sent out into the forest.

His deadly sword swerved towards her which she ducked to avoid. She took the quick opportunity to swing her leg out, swiftly knocking him backwards. With an unexpected stab of her second knife, his heart was effortlessly pierced. Hearing another from behind, she turned just in time to grab an incoming wrist that held a spiked club over her head. She twisted the hand and forcefully hit the man's other fist, blocking it smoothly.

She punched him with both knuckles on the corner of his chin, knocking him backwards. It made him momentarily dizzy enough to pull out the dagger she had thrown into the first opponent's throat. The guard redeemed himself quickly and advanced on her. He blocked her attempt to stab him but she gracefully countered his second attack, causing him to fall against a tree. When he moved forward, she kicked him in the chest, and then lodged the knife right into his temple as he fought his disorientation.

She watched as his eyes went blank. She pulled out her knife and he fell to her feet, blood drizzling down his cheek, dripping off his eyelashes like tears. Listening for more, she counted four dead bodies. It seemed to be all there was.

She walked over to the man she had stabbed in the chest, and pulled out her second weapon. Both knives glimmered with scarlet like running paint, which she wiped off with the hem of her black leather jacket, her narrow waistband tightening as she breathed in the cold, icy air.

She willed herself not to think. When she spoke, her voice was bland, emotionless, even. "I know you're there, Azariel."

It took a moment before she heard his voice.

"Now, I'm not one to brag," Azariel spoke as he clapped slowly in triumph, his scarred, burned face appearing from the darkness of the trees. His expression was smug. "But I'd like to proclaim that I am the best teacher known to man. Just look at how you slaughtered them—it was beautiful!"

"It's wrong, Az," she said with an annoyed hiss. "They didn't have to die. All you can do is watch me like the fat pig you are and make no intention of helping."

"Can't I let you know how proud I am of you?" He asked, sounding hurt. But Siarya knew it was just a ploy. "I'm no pig for appreciating your talent, Sia."

"A coward, maybe?" She gave him a sharp glare. "You knew they were out here, didn't you? That's why you called for me."

"I didn't help because you didn't need me," Azariel queried timidly. "You haven't needed my advice for a while now. After all, I've taught you everything I know in the past year."

Siarya's lips tightened into a thin line. She did not find joy in this fact. She tried not to dwell on it, forcing herself to pay attention to anything but the fresh blood drenching the snowy clearing. She stood very still, her boots digging into the frosted ground, the soft wind brushing through her hair. The forest was quiet.

Azariel leaned down to inspect the Drovanian seal on the chest of one of the men. "These are no ordinary guards; they're assassins, like you. Looks like they made the same mistake that you did before by fighting with heavy weapons."

"How do you know they're assassins?" Siarya asked, turning to look at him.

"They wear the Drovanian emblem but not the correct gear for a true soldier sent by Domonic. He's sending out his very best."

"They weren't very good." She noted.

"To any ordinary man it would have been too much. To a trained knight, these assassins would have killed him in a minute," Azariel replied as he stood up, surveying the area. "But to you, they're just toys."

"Oh." Siarya said flatly. Her stomach twisted.

"I taught you well. Like I said before, you should be proud." He said curtly, turning away from her. He began to walk.

Siarya followed him, her legs moving against her will. Her voice remained monotone, "What will we do with the bodies?"

"Leave them to deteriorate?" Azariel answered curtly, but then noticing her pained expression, he rolled his head back in acceptance. "_Where,_ Siarya?"

She lifted her head. "The river."

She could see him pondering over this; the consequences, the risks. The winning feeling she so adored. "I see your choice reasonable. It leads straight into various Drovanian villages that I'm sure will find your encounter with the killers traumatizing."

"They won't know it was me," Siarya said. Contrary to Azariel's reasoning, there was no malevolent purpose behind putting the bodies in the river. It just seemed like a better idea than leaving them in the woods where they'd never be found. At least if they washed up somewhere, their identities could be revealed and the corpses could be returned to the families.

Siarya picked up two of the corpses with both her hands. She walked past Azariel, who stood watching her carry the heavy men towards the direction of the river. He shook his head, amused, and picked up the other men. "The King will, you know."

Siarya frowned, swallowing, unsure of what to say. So she remained silent.

"I bet he's going crazy right now thinking that you've been killing every poor bastard he puts after you," Azariel spoke loudly so that Siarya could hear. "He's just been sending them to all the wrong places."

"I don't want to hear about it." Siarya said bluntly. She really didn't.

They entered the clearing where a roaring river hurtled through the darkness. The raging waters were filled with branches and mud, along with decaying slices of rotten animal flesh and matted furs. The entire area stunk with the scent of the deceased and the diseased like the river was a stairway to Totorous. Angry, harsh, and icy cold like the waters were composed of Witches' blood.

She dropped the bodies in the river. She watched as they sunk.

They quickly moved with the speed of the raggedy waters, smashing into rocks as they went. Azariel let go of the last corpses, which soon followed after the first two. He gave her a reflective look.

Siarya admired her decision, but something was still off. She wasn't satisfied.

"You know," Azariel said coolly, leering suggestively towards her. "The only way to survive in this world on your own is to follow your own rules at your own pace. It's okay to feel remorse."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

He looked over at her, his eyes shadowed. His expression was grave. "But it's not okay to feel mercy."

Siarya wrenched her eyes away from him and back to the river, so full of natural rage. Twisting, winding, manipulated with Drovania's cursed darkness, just like every other occupant in this sinful land. She could imagine that the river used to be pure, like the summer springs of Sephoria. Sparkling, beautiful, and blue. Now, just like everything else in Drovania, the water was sickened.

_No mercy, _she thought.

Just like the river.

~.~

When Azariel and Siarya returned to the camp, they could tell something was seriously wrong.

Everyone was gathered outside, speaking in low voices. Their expressions were concerned—scared, even. Azariel and Siarya exchanged looks warily before approaching.

"What's going on?" Azariel demanded. Everyone grew silent as all eyes turned to him. Then, to Siarya, who was frowning.

"Lionel and I have returned from a supply run," Darion explained. His face was littered with small scratches. "We went too far into the outskirts of the forest, and we ran into some Drovanian guards."

Azariel visibly paled. "Did they get away?"

"No," Lionel stepped in quickly. He, too, had injuries on his face. His knuckles were bloody as if he'd punched something hard. "No, we took care of them. But that's not what the problem is about."

"Then what is it?" Azariel asked sharply.

"Before they saw us, we heard them talking," Darion said. He looked at Siarya, "They were talking about you."

"Yeah, so?" Siarya inquired.

"They were also talking about your sister," Lionel added. Siarya felt her blood run cold. "The younger one."

"Eri." She whispered, eyes widening.

"Sia, the guards were talking about a siege. They said that King Domonic stormed into Eloraia and took your Hollow by surprise. They said that the Princess was taken by Drovanian troops—"

"They said _what?"_ Siarya asked, her voice scarily low.

"Siarya, wait," Alana persisted as she grabbed Siarya's arm, but she shook it away violently. "We don't know anything for sure, okay? As far as we know, your family is safe. Your parents and your elder sister are alive—"

"I don't _care_ about them!" Siarya yelled at her. Alana shrunk away in surprise. "It's Eriana they were talking about! _Not _them! If the rest of my family were in trouble, the guards would've mentioned them, too."

"We understand the dire circumstances Princess Eriana may be in, but this is a time to think rationally." Darion said sternly.

"He's done it this time," Siarya began to pace, feeling restless. She didn't care if King Domonic was the weakest man in the world, or the most dangerous. "If he hurts her, I'll kill him. I swear to the Gods, I will rip him apart."

"And how do you suppose you're going to do that?" Azariel spat. She glared at him. "The Drovanian Castle is more complicated than you think."

"She could be dead—"

"If they've taken her, she's not dead," Azariel said. "It means they're keeping her alive for a reason."

"Why?"

"You know exactly why, but you just don't want to admit it. Domonic is smart; he's got his brain working. He thinks if he takes your family then you'll come after them. Its leverage, Siarya, you know very well of that." Azariel answered as he crossed his arms. He appeared anxious.

"So are we planning a mass-invasion, then?" Arturo suggested quietly. The others looked at him.

"No," Siarya said, shaking her head. "No, I can't do that."

"You wouldn't go back for your own sister?" Alana asked with a face of disappointment.

"Gods, yes I would!" She retorted angrily. Running her fingers through her hair, she sighed. Inhale. Exhale. "I would always come for her. I just can't. Not that way."

"Because..?"

"What do you think?" Siarya snarled at them. "It's way too dangerous."

"You can't possibly expect to storm into the Drovanian Castle alone, can you?" Darion asked.

"You can't possibly expect me to accept a plan that involves an entire group of _Sephorians_ barging into the Drovanian Castle, can you?" Siarya reiterated mockingly. The group turned quiet. "That's what I thought."

"I still don't see a problem here," Azariel declared, sitting up. "I can rescue Eriana, killing a few men on the way. It happens. However, I don't see any problem with Eriana becoming one of us—"

"—absolutely not," Siarya interrupted. Azariel tilted his head dangerously. "I don't want that life for her. I don't want her to have to kill people in order to survive, or manipulate innocent people to get what she wants."

"No, because that's your job," he snarled. Siarya flinched, taking a step backwards at the blunt force of his words. "How do you know she's so innocent? You haven't seen her for a year. Perhaps longer."

"How do you know she's not?" Siarya shot back furiously. The others sat quietly, watching them. It was not often when someone stood up to Azariel, with all of his deadly might. "For all I know, I'm only afraid that she'll ever stop loving me. I think of all the lies she has been fed for all of these months and wonder if she truly believes that this is my entire fault."

"It's not." Arturo assured her, wringing his hands nervously.

"Your compassion is revolting…" Azariel murmured under his breath, but she ignored him.

"I have to do something." Siarya declared.

"Do you have a plan?" Alana asked.

"Not yet," she turned away from them. She needed to breathe. "I think I need to take a walk."

"I still don't think this is a great idea." Darion uttered, eyeing Siarya with a look of apprehension. Alana stood next to him, taking his hand.

Siarya shifted on her feet. "Dar, let me do this. You know I'll go whether any of you like it or not.

"You've been good to us. You've protected our camp well. It's only fair that we keep you safe. I remain the same; this is not something I agree with."

"I do." Lionel announced. Everyone peered over to him, who seemed to be the only one somewhat enthusiastic about this.

"Lionel," Arturo spoke, hushed. "It's _Sia._ She could get hurt."

"This is an act of selflessness and courage, not one of greed and malice," Lionel explained carefully as his fingers pressed against the hilt of his sword. "Keeping her from this serious mission would be selfish of us."

"And if she fails to free her sister?" Darion asked. "What then?"

"That's then, not now," Siarya answered. "I will improvise."

Siarya didn't want to hear anymore. She didn't need to. No matter what the group thought, there was nothing keeping her back from storming into the Castle and rescuing her sister.

She turned away from the group and marched towards her tent. Alana followed her.

"Sia, you must think this through—"she urged as Siarya hastily lifted the flap of the tent to enter. Alana caught it before it swung shut, and followed her as Siarya began to collect her weapons. "The words of dead men cannot be trusted! How are you going to get inside the Castle? What will happen if you're caught?"

"My sister's life is on the line, Alana," Siarya testified bitterly. After a slight pause, she gave Alana a stern look. "I'd rather it be mine."

Siarya picked up a crossbow, trying it out. She may need it later. Alana placed her hand on the tip of the weapon, lowering it. "I don't want you to get hurt."

"Neither do I." She stuffed the crossbow in a large brown satchel, along with many of Ben and Mark's scientific trinkets. Two knives were slung into her belt under her black leather coat, and another in her boot.

"Sia, please, just let me say something." Alana insisted anxiously.

Siarya sighed, feeling frustrated, and paused in her haste. "What is it?"

"Just hear me out," she placed a warm hand on Siarya's chest, her pretty eyes filling with glistening tears. "You're strong, Sia. So very, very strong. I am proud of you, and I love you as my own. But the world out there is cold and different than you are—Azariel has changed you completely. I admit I don't like it very much, but I cannot change who you are," she paused then, sucking in a breath. "But out there, they will not be so kind. They will not like you as you are, Siarya. Once they see who've you become, they'll not only want you dead, but they'll try to exterminate you."

"I know." Siarya whispered. And she really did.

"Then don't go alone," Alana begged, sounding breathless. "Please."

Siarya didn't say anything for a long time. Her face grew dark with thought, brows furrowed and eyes glazed over, as she became fixated on packing up supplies. She was trying to mentally prepare herself for the task ahead. She knew it was useless, but she had to focus her thoughts on something other than Alana's protests or the men's disapproval. Already, she felt nauseous, her hands trembling so badly that she almost considered giving up. It'd be so easy to stay where it's safe.

She thought about what happened so long ago, how she'd rashly promised Eriana something she could never give; protection. How her circumstances have nearly destroyed every bit of normalcy Eriana had, back at home. How despite being in Drovania, far from Eriana's reach, she _still_ managed to mess up everything her family held dear. How Drovania's disease compelled Siarya to destroy other people, like the guards in the forest, under Azariel's sly command. She thought about her little sister, how she always knew things no one else did, and she wondered what Eriana would think if of her she saw Siarya now, with blood on her hands.

Siarya had been horrified to witness Klaus's murder. A man she never knew until he had a dagger protruding from his chest. A murder she felt guilty for when it was Azariel who had done the death-blow. She'd been so disgusted by the sight.

Now, she has become very thing that horrified her. And she hated it, because Eriana was still going to see Siarya as her sister from a year ago. It felt wrong. _Dirty._

The Siarya that Eriana knew would've never murdered anyone for the sake of another.

When Siarya was finished packing, she raked her fingers through her hair and turned her head to Alana, who had been watching her in the silence. Siarya's voice was monotone as she spoke, numbly disregarding Alana's protest not to go alone, or not to go at all, "Take care of the boys, will you?"

"Sia…" She protested. But Siarya shook her head in warning, and Alana closed her mouth, defeated. Her words had been final.

The pain on her face made Siarya's heart wrench. Inhaling a shaky breath, Siarya choked out, "I love her, Alana."

And that triumphed everything. Alana tilted her head in sympathy, and the pain etched across her features softened into understanding, and her solemn eyes lowered in a way of submission. It was as if she were saying that it was _okay._

_We will never blame you, _Alana had told her during the very first night Siarya slept at the camp. _We protect our own. _

That was all they were trying to do, Siarya thought. _Protect me._

Siarya was making them go back on their values. Something she thought she'd never do.

"Alana?" Siarya added softly, secretly wishing to make the situation better. To make the atmosphere a little bit happier. Alana tilted her head, almost hopefully, like Siarya was about to change her mind. "I saw what went on between Darion and you. I'll have you know that I approve."

Alana gaped, obviously not expecting that. Her face blushed scarlet. "I—"

"Stop. Don't say anything to ruin it. I _like_ Darion. He's nice."

Her eyes narrowed warily, but then she smiled, her face lighting up with warmth. She nodded.

They sat there for a few moments, staring, but eventually Siarya bid her farewell and left the tent with her weapons securely hidden in her clothes. Alana didn't follow her.

She never thought she'd say goodbye to these people, particularly in this fashion. To think that she was going on a mission like this was unthinkable. What was she doing? _I haven't been outside the forest in so long. What makes me think I know where I'm going?_

"Ben, Mark," Siarya called out their names. They were standing together, murmuring under their breaths. When she rushed towards them, they peered up with concern. At their expressions, Siarya's heart clenched. "I'll be alright, you two."

"We know," they chimed in solemnly. "It just pains us to see you go."

She gave them a crooked smile. It was as much as she could give. "It's not like I'm never coming back."

They gave her a calculating look.

"I will!" She exclaimed, feeling slightly hurt. "I'll kick the Drovanians in the face. You'll see. When you see a soldier coming around the bend with a foot in his mouth, that'll be me."

"Siarya, you stupid child," Mark patted her head like a father would do to his daughter. He pulled her into a large hug. He smelled like trees, and Siarya fell into him, taking in the familiar scent with affection. "This heroism issue can get you into trouble."

"M'not stupid." She mumbled into his jacket. Ben snorted quietly. She looked at both of them, "I will return. I don't know when, but I will. So don't you dare miss me, boys."

"If you're going to leave, I'd do it soon," Ben told her. His voice was sad. "I think Darion and Arturo are planning a blockade."

Siarya glanced over towards Darion's tent. Arturo and Darion were indeed watching her with heavy gazes, their expressions contorted with disapproval.

She pulled away from Mark and Ben, nodding softly. She tucked a stand of hair behind her ear, frowning, before adjusting the strap of her satchel. She gave them one last, loving stare. "I'll see you later, I suppose."

Mark and Ben exchanged looks. "Yes… I suppose we will."

She gave them a weak smile before turning her back on them. She didn't look behind at the camp; it would make her want to stay. Instead, she walked into the woods, off the trails.

She was going to have to sneak into Vortrea. She'd have to find a way into the Drovanian Castle without being caught. She'd have to find a way to break Eriana out from wherever she was being kept, and then manage to survive escaping. All of this hung heavy over her, and she still wasn't even entirely sure of her plan.

"Now where," Azariel dropped from the trees in front of her. She stopped in her tracks, immediately glaring at him. "Do you think you're going?"

"Hello, Azariel," She said disinterestedly, pushing past him. "What do you want?"

"I'm coming with." He answered with a grin.

She stopped again, giving him an incredulous look. "No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"Says who?" She snapped.

"Says," he grabbed one of her knives from her belt, sharply maneuvering out of her way as she lunged to retrieve it, to her irritation. "Me."

"And why should I let you?" She asked, cocking an eyebrow. "You'll just cause trouble everywhere we go. You can't walk into anywhere without leaving bodies behind. You'll attract too much attention, and you'll only drag me down."

"But I am a man with connections!" He exclaimed excitedly as he trekked past her. "I've been in and out of the Castle many times before. It's a piece of cake. And I know a woman who may be able to help us. But, if you're too busy rejecting my help, then you can go along your merry way and spend days attempting to find your sister of whom the King probably wants to stay hidden."

_Damn it_, Siarya thought. He might just be right. Azariel knew things about the Castle that no one else did. He knew how to break into the dungeons, and escape without a scratch. He was an arsenal waiting to be used.

Siarya let out a frustrated breath, "I really shouldn't allow you to accompany me."

"You need me."

Of course. That was his superpower.

She sent him the meanest glower she could muster. "It seems that is always the case."

"So?" Azariel asked expectantly. His expression was too smug for Siarya's liking.

"So, I'll let you come with me."

"Hoorah!" Azariel cried out, throwing up the knife so Siarya could catch it. She was already beginning to dread the decision. "I love road trips."

"They're going to be so angry at me for taking you," she said as she peered back at the camp, still glittering in the distance. "You should have heard how much they wanted to come."

"Then it's a decent time to get as far away from them as possible." He answered with a sly grin.

_As long as Eriana isn't killed before we find her, _Siarya thought wistfully. _Maybe this won't be so bad._


	15. Death of Thy Enemy

**AN:** Thank you **J Luc Pitard** for your review! I appreciated everything you had to say, especially your evaluation of my main character. I find she is an intriguing topic for some of my readers because she is so odd. I'm glad you caught that, because I am doing it on purpose. It makes me happy that Siarya's character is making people think a little bit. Her personal identity is certainly something that will be talked about within the story—and, coincidently, this very chapter.

I don't know if any of you have read some of Charles Dicken's work, but I'm sort of basing my writing style off of his. Plot-wise, anyways. As in, you won't know how each character is relevant to each other until later in the story where it all comes together.

Anyways, there is something I need to elaborate upon for this chapter. There is a specific weapon included in this chapter (it was introduced before, but this chapter is the beginning of where it really comes into play). It's a very complex weapon, and I want to clarify the actual appearance of how it works.

"The man's" bladed bow is a specially engineered bow that can perform various mechanisms, such as allowing sharp blades to protrude from the limbs, and other little things. It can be used as a sword/dagger sort of thing, used for stabbing and slashing. More clarification on the bow's appearance will come in future chapters.

Also, forgive me for the fighting scenes. I'm not an expert fighter, and all the moves that the characters make are from my own clumsy brain. I do my best!

Sorry for the long Author's Note. On with the chapter!

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Death of Thy Enemy **

_**Siarya**_

"So, why are you doing this?" Siarya asked as they trudged through entwined dead plants and thick weeds.

After a brief pause, Azariel replied, "What do you mean?"

"What's in this for you?" She smirked knowingly as she dug her knife into a thicket of dead plants. They ripped apart instantly. "You're coming with me with only a few spare daggers and another weapon or two. We could be going up against an entire Drovanian army. Even I recognize that you hardly care for people in general, so it couldn't be your concern for my safety. What are you looking for?"

"Smart girl," he admitted almost proudly. "But I have no secret agendas. Even if I did, I wouldn't tell you."

Siarya stole a look at him. She couldn't help but grin, "You are probably one of the most mysterious men I've ever met, you know that?"

"Well, I dare hope so. I worked stunningly hard for this reputation."

She laughed. "If you're trying to sound impressive, it's not working."

"Who said I had to try?"

A vine smacked Siarya's cheek, its dry talons leaving a slight scrape near her temple. She swiped it irritably away. "Blasted dead plants everywhere. This entire Kingdom is plagued with death, I swear."

Azariel cut down the remnants of a bush. "That's because it is."

Siarya exhaled deeply. It was silent for a long time after that. They cut and dragged away the remnants of life that blocked their path. After an hour or so, she became bored.

"So, what is this connection you have anyways?" She asked.

"You mean _who_," Azariel corrected as he slashed with a long knife. Three little birds swooped away from one of the trees, flitting past them. They rested on a large boulder curiously, their eyes glinting red. "We could just sneak into the Castle like I had when I rescued you, but it'd be risky. Every time someone breaks into their walls, it becomes more dangerous to use the same path more than twice. There's always a chance that the guards there may have found the entrance, and you won't know unless they've caught you."

"So who is this connection, then?" Siarya asked. "How are they going to help?"

"You're not going to favor this one bit." He replied grimly, giving her a strange look. She tilted her head in curiosity, her eyebrows raised.

"Do I _know_ this person?"

"Her name is Stellania," Azariel said as their eyes met. "She's an old friend of mine. We go way back. She's also a Seer; a Drovanian engineer who keeps track of expenses of magic and events that occur within the Kingdom. She knows everything and everyone that passes through Drovanian lands."

"If she's a Drovanian, why would she want to help someone like me?" Siarya asked. "I don't think many of your kind are lining up to help the exiled Sephorian Princess wanted by the King."

"Stella is… lenient," Azariel replied. Siarya shot him an odd look, and he shrugged. "She owes me some favors—mind this, she may not believe she does, but I've saved her arse more times than plenty—and she'll keep you a secret from the Drovanian Guard, if needed. With persuasion, anyways."

"She doesn't sound so trustworthy to me." Siarya admitted.

"She'll be of help to us, Sia, I promise you. This isn't, in fact, the problem though. It's just where she stays."

"And that is?" Siarya inquired.

"The very heart of Vortrea."

Siarya stopped in her tracks. "If we move into Vortrea, I'll be in walking distance from the Castle. That's the goddamn capital! Do you really think I'm going to go to this _Seer_ when I could be close enough to take my sister back—?"

"—you'll be leading yourself into your suicide," Azariel interrupted sharply. "You know that."

"But we will be so close—"

"_It won't be enough_," he glared at her, his strong conclusion hardly faltering. She, at a loss, pushed past him in frustration and angry silence. "Don't disobey me, Siarya. You will not throw yourself out into the field for them to take shots at. King Domonic has his eyes set out for you; he's angry. He's vengeful. He knows what he's doing. He knows that you'll want to come be the savior in this situation, but right now, you just _can't_. Do you understand?"

Seething with fury, Siarya began to stab at the shrubbery. "I don't like being told what I cannot do."

"I'm aware." Azariel replied calmly.

"Well, if we have miles of forest to go through before we walk into Vortrea, can't just fly out of this incredibly annoying pit of weeds?" Siarya asked as her feet were caught in the roots of a looming gray tree.

Flight was something that Azariel was adamant on teaching Siarya. When she first entered the camp, she hadn't unfurled her wings in about six years. Which meant that it really, _really_ hurt when Azariel finally forced her. He claimed that flight was the greatest advantage an individual could have. Siarya very much disagreed when she was curled up on the ground, writhing in agony. He'd made her stand up and fly—not just branching, because that was too soft of training for Azariel's taste—but he made her touch the tops of the deceased trees, and come back down. Up and down, all day, non-stop, without a single break. It nearly broke her back.

She could still hear his words in her head: _"Remember this: never, and I mean _never, _let your opponent get you on the floor. You are to become light; you feel yourself falling, you pick yourself up before you touch the ground. If you do manage to fall, make sure they go down with you."_

Siarya hid a snigger at the memory. Azariel lived for drama.

"Flight?" Azariel asked, peering up into the blackened sky. "When it's lighter."

"It's always going to be dark." Siarya complained.

"You're right," he snapped at her. "And it would be a lot easier to fly over this forest. Unfortunately, that is not on your to-do list. You have flashy white wings. Unless you want to be spotted and shot down like a goose, I suggest you cut faster."

"Can't you just carry me through flight?" She grumbled.

"I'm sure the folks out there won't notice."

"Right…" Siarya sighed. She imagined him having to carry her in the sky while citizens look up to see a bulky shape of oddness in the air. Too noticeable.

Soon, the woods cleared out a bit as the trees became more spaced out, and the only thing that littered the ground was the flattened layers of dried up leaves. They flew out from under their feet; decades of darkness had seemingly sucked the life out of them, making the leaves light.

Drovanian officials were out for her blood. How was she going to make it into Vortrea alive? Specifically the center. Azariel thought of her as an excellent killer—a title she didn't exactly appreciate. She didn't know if she could be just as excellent in front of their military.

But her promise to Eriana was stronger than her fear of dying. She was not going to let her little sister rot in the shadow of Domonic. If this King wanted to start a game, she'll have to show him how it's played.

**~.~**

_**The Man**_

The man, cursed with a Witch's mysterious spell, sat in front of a flickering fire, the flames ends' sending off sparks like fireflies into the night. It was silent, other than the slow creaking of the bare tree branches scraping against each other and a rushing river far off in the distance. He had managed to dig up some vegetation from the riverbeds; the nutrients in the water had managed to preserve the little amount of greenery.

He studied a sodden piece of yellowing green in his fingers. What kind of plant was it? Did it ever have a name? What was it used for?

It didn't matter, though. The green was dying, just like the rest of Drovania. If Sephoria was taken by Drovanian government, his kind would finally survive to the fullest extent. Until Domonic makes a move, Drovania will always be their home. Their prison.

He flicked the piece of green into the fire. The flames ate it up as if they were hungry too, just as he was. He had managed to catch a fish and slice off its head before the fish could gnaw on his skin. He cooked it, but the meal was very small. He's gone days without food before, he could do it again. He just needed a set of tracks. Anything that could lead to Siarya's whereabouts.

He figured that Siarya would have connections to her past; despite her exile from her homelands, there had to be someone who would help her if needed. After digging up some information, he discovered that Niera Petrova would be Siarya's target if she ever needed outside help.

So he'd keep an eye on Petrova, and make sure that she wasn't doing anything suspicious. If, of course, the woman was still alive—rumors were floating around the Sephorian borders where the Hollow Guard resided. One of their greatest warriors was dying. Apparently she didn't have much longer to go.

He uncorked a bottle of liquor and took a deep swig. The liquid trickled down his throat, leaving a burning pleasure. He exhaled softly, feeling nothing. No alcohol could ever drown his feelings if he had none to begin with.

Suddenly, he heard voices. They were near; a group of men, to be precise. The man stood up, the fire casting shadows over his body like an illuminated monster. The feathers of his wings rustled like a cat's fur standing on end.

Two wandering men stepped into the clearing. Only, at that time, the area was submerged in darkness. A fire pit sat smoking with only a few embers glowing slightly. They saw no one, and heard nothing but the eerie sway of the trees. The man was easily hidden.

"Lionel," one of the men called out. He was burlier than the other, with dark hair and a thick beard beginning to grow. He wore leather, with an arrangement of swords at his waist. "Someone's been here."

The other man, Lionel, stepped forward to study the remnants of the fire. He smashed his foot in the embers, making the area light up with a few seconds worth of flame. He was light-skinned with tawny blonde hair. With a sudden shock of realization, and then overwhelming fury, the man realized that these individuals were actually Sephorian.

The man gripped his weapon—a bow—steadily as he watched from his hiding place.

"This is too far south. They walked the opposite way. There's no way they would be here, Darion," Lionel spoke gruffly as he peered around in the trees. His gleaming eyes trailed over the man, but he was too far hidden in the darkness. "It's not one of us."

"Drovanian?" The man named Darion asked, his voice heavy with a strong accent that sounded foreign to the man's ears.

They exchanged looks before Lionel said, "It would be most irregular. Many people do not venture into this forest unless they wish to die. Perhaps we should catch up with Az. He may have left us in a dangerous position."

_Az? _The man frowned. The nickname sounded oddly familiar.

"I don't understand why he left in the first place," Darion raked his fingers through his long black hair. "Sia made it clear that she wanted no one to follow her."

The man stiffened. _Her._

"Az cares about her."

Darion gaped at the other man. "Az is deadly for a reason. No compassion. He taught Siarya enough of that for a lifetime."

"Az acts like a father when it comes to her. He's never had anyone to really communicate with. No one understands his morals," Lionel reasoned softly. "After what happened with Sia and her family, I'd think they ended up clinging to each other much more than they realized."

Darion gave a last look around at the clearing. "No one is here. Whoever made this fire is long gone. Let's go."

"Whoever made this fire could be looking for Sia. They could be dangerous."

"Let them come," Darion replied with ease. "Az will kill them before they could even touch her."

Suddenly, the man dropped from the trees like a shadow. He grabbed Darion by the neck with his bow. He maneuvered himself around, making it difficult for Darion to fight back. The blades of the man's bow spun out like a mechanism. Lionel shouted something, evidently taken back by the attack.

The man sneered. "Take another step and he dies."

There was fire in Lionel's eyes. Recognition hit them. "It's _you." _

The man cocked a brow. "You know me?"

"I do," Lionel said warily. There was a hint of fear in his voice, but not a trace of it in his expression. "And you are not welcome here."

"I'm not here to kill you," the man pulled back on the bow, choking the man. "I'm here to ask you a question."

Lionel nodded at the bow. "You call that non-threatening?"

"I call it precaution." He replied.

"You're the man who kills things for entertainment."

The man clenched his jaw. He'd heard that from enough people before.

Darion was sputtering slightly, and the man glanced down to see that he was turning a shade of purple. His heart skipped a beat, and he immediately slackened his hold just enough for Darion to breathe. He peered back up at Lionel, whose eyes were full of hatred. "I'm looking for someone you know. Her name is Siarya."

"We have no idea who you're talking about." Lionel replied through gritted teeth. He was seething.

"See, that's not the answer I need," the man pulled back on his weapon. Darion's eyes bulged. "Now, you're going to tell me the truth, or I'll shred his throat."

Lionel stiffened, emotion playing in his eyes. "You're bluffing."

The man tilted his head dangerously. "If you know who I am, you'd know that I don't bluff."

They stared at each other for the next few moments, the world silent except for the wet choking sound of Darion's throat. Lionel was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling like waves, as his eyes flitted desperately between the man's bladed bow and his friend.

_Kill him, _the man could hear his father's voice in his head, clear as a bell. _He's a Sephorian in our lands. You know he deserves it._

But he needed information. He didn't have to end Darion's life yet.

"Please," the man said, politeness entering his voice. Lionel frowned in surprise. "I merely need to know of Siarya's whereabouts. I am not interested in killing either of you tonight."

It was a long few agonizing moments before Lionel replied, shaking his head, "You're a murderer. I'd rather kill you now before telling you anything about her—she is innocent, you hear me? She doesn't deserve to have men like you hunting her down. She's just a girl."

The hair on the man's arms stood on end. He knew exactly who Siarya was. Or, at least, who she had been seven years ago—just a little girl who wasn't afraid of dragons.

The man sucked in a breath. "I will kill him," he warned again. "If you don't tell me now, I will obliterate him right in front of you. Is that what you want?"

Lionel sneered, "If you wanted him dead, you'd have killed him already."

_Damn it, _the man cursed. His father's words returned, slamming into the backs of his brain. It didn't have to be this way.

He let go of Darion, who lurched forward immediately, panting, greedily grasping every inch of the air he could find. Hope and relief filled Lionel's eyes.

Then the man spun his bow so quickly that it turned into a black blur; Lionel only saw it coming a split second before the bladed bow plunged into Darion's chest from behind. He screamed as his blood sprayed out like a fountain, coloring Lionel's skin as he watched in growing horror, the bow still spinning, the blades still slashing into his insides.

Lionel then let out a cry of grief, and attacked the man. But he pulled out his bladed bow and sliced it against Lionel's face, making him fall back into a tree behind him with two deep gashes in his cheek.

Lionel furiously lunged again, but was forced into a stop when he saw that the man had him cornered, a silver arrow pointing directly at his heart.

He let out a breath, glaring at the man with the eyes of hatred. "Go ahead. _Kill me."_

The man's eyes flitted back to Darion, who lay in the dead leaves like a ragged doll, soggy with blood. A wet hole the size of a melon replaced the area where his chest would be. Maroon seeped through his clothes, still gushing out of his wound. His eyes, open and lifeless. His skin now pale except for the flecks of blood that adorned his face.

Even the grip on his bow was slippery with blood as he noticed it dripping from his fingers, hitting the floor. Sephorian blood. He could practically hear Domonic's singing praises from miles away.

The man looked back at Lionel, "Not until you give me what I want."

Lionel panted as he stared at his dead friend. He shook his head and let himself fall back onto the tree, tears threatening to escape his eyes. "…She went north."

"Where?"

He lifted his head to give the man a death glare. _"You know where."_

The man lifted his head in acknowledgment, and then felt a dark wave of dread. She was heading to the Castle because he hadn't found her on time. If she walked into Vortrea before him, she'd certainly be killed. Domonic would never let her leave.

"That's all I needed to know," the man said then, his voice low with thought. "Get your people and leave Drovania. Don't come back. If I ever hear of your existence in my lands again, I will find you myself and I will kill you, along with every other person you've ever loved. Am I understood?"

Lionel gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching, before reluctantly nodding.

The man turned his back on Lionel, preparing to leave.

"I hope you find her!" Lionel shouted.

The man froze in puzzlement, turning his head slightly. "And why is that, exactly?"

"So that she can kill you."

The words almost made the man laugh, but when he turned around fully, he saw that the expression on Lionel's face was pure honesty. He really thought she could kill him. Siarya, a spoiled and naïve child, capable of killing him. It was unfathomable.

It was… concerning.

He bent his head like a courtesy and disappeared into the darkness, leaving Lionel to suffer the death of his companion.

_It's time that I find you, little dove, _the man thought timidly. _I'll be the judge of how well you can live up to your reputation._

Lifting up the hood of his black cloak, he unfurled his dark magnificent wings and launched himself into the sky, heading north.

~.~

_**Siarya**_

"Sia," someone was shaking her. She groaned. "Sia, wake up."

"No…" She whined, throwing out her arm. Her hand hit something hard, causing a sharp smacking noise.

"Ouch. Damn it, Sia. Open your eyes."

Moaning, she lifted her eyelids heavily to see a blurry Azariel leaning over her, displaying a slightly red mark on the side of his face. Blinking, he became clearer. She snorted, "That's what you get for waking me up."

"Seriously." He said flatly.

"Mmm," she murmured as she stretched, and yawned. She studied the bed of hay they had slept in, which had probably left rashes in various places of her body. She sunk back into a resting position. "Sleep. More."

"Ooooh no you don't," Azariel sang loudly, pulling her up by her arm. "We're leaving soon."

Siarya groaned again in annoyance before looking outside. Cold air drifted into the barn, freezing and uncomfortable, sending shivers along her skin. There was even a little layer of snow on the ground. "Az, it's still early. Who do you think I am, a farmer? I don't do this."

"No, but we're on a very important journey. I suggest you pack up so we can leave before it becomes late enough for people to catch sight of your incredibly inconvenient white wings."

Siarya jumped up in excitement. "Flying? Really?"

"I thought it would make you feel better," he shrugged, handing over her things. "And I figured it would make faster timing. I think we'll be able to go for about an hour or so before we have to walk on foot because of the villages. We'll be near Vortrea by then, anyway."

"You know, when Alana told me that our camp was on the outskirts of Vortrea, I never imagined it being miles away." Siarya said, feeling a little amused.

"Drovania is a big Kingdom. Miles away from Vortrea_ is_ the outskirts."

"I don't think that's how it works, Az."

He waved her off. "Just… do your chores."

She let out a low breath. She counted her weapons and secured her things, and munched on some dried meat that Azariel had stored in his pouch. They didn't talk much, and the morning was silent other than the sound of the wind and the creaking of the barn.

Soon enough though, they were leaving. They walked out of the barn, supplies slung over their shoulders. The rest of the chilling air washed over them, biting at their skin uncomfortably.

"What do we do if they catch us?" Siarya asked, referring to the Drovanian Guard.

"Run and hide," Azariel answered, following her. They were in a barren field of dead wheat. "Make sure that Domonic doesn't take you."

"And if he does?" She gave him a strangled look. "I can't just kill the King."

He stopped in his tracks. "Why not?"

_Because killing is wrong? _Siarya thought automatically. Unsure, she shook her head. "I don't _know_. The thought of leaving an entire civilization without anything to watch over them just feels wrong."

"It's not like there won't be another King, Sia," Azariel said, his voice breathy with exasperation. "If Domonic Hawkensyre were killed, his younger brother will take the throne. He's twenty-two, and perfectly at age of ruling."

Siarya raised her brows in surprise. "There's a second son?"

"Of course there's a second son, Sia. Didn't you know that?"

"I…" Siarya thought way back. She could remember, just vaguely, the mentioning of the late King Pantomon having two sons. But it was a long time ago, and she wasn't sure when. "I suppose I just forgot."

"It's not too surprising that you forgot," Azariel explained. "The second son isn't spoken about often. Most men like him aren't."

"Most men like him?" Siarya asked.

"Men who live in the shadows of other men. In his case, King Domonic."

"Oh," Siarya replied. "Is he as vengeful as his brother?"

Azariel gave her a very dark, calculating look. "He's one of the most dangerous men in the Kingdoms. He's walked in and out of Sephorian lands unscathed, leaving trails of slaughter in his wake. He has no mercy for those he murders, and he has no fear of trivial things such as war and death. So yes, Siarya. He's much more vengeful than his brother."

Siarya pursed her lips, feeling slightly nauseated. Her skin prickled at the thought of Domonic's younger brother, so full of murderous intent. "Is he after me, too?"

"I don't doubt it."

She looked at Azariel questioningly. "Could we take him on if we had to?"

Azariel inhaled, his chest puffing up as his eyes narrowed in deep thought. "I don't know."

"You don't know?" Siarya asked in shock. "Aren't you supposed to be the best of the best?"

"This man isn't like his brother, Siarya," Azariel turned to her harshly. "King Domonic is psychopathic. He's deranged and desperate. He does what he wants because he doesn't realize he's doing things wrong. He's… an easy kill, if provoked."

"And his brother?"

"His brother doesn't have a soul to provoke," Azariel said flatly. "That's all I have to say."

Siarya shot forward, curiosity written across her features. "You're not going to tell me more?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because no one talks about Dane Hawkensyre!" He snapped at her. Siarya took a step back at the force of his words. "And if you know what's best for you, you'd stay away from him. You hear his name, you get out of there as fast as you can. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, sir." Siarya replied quietly. The name _Dane _was rolling through her mind, over and over again. The name no one ever spoke of. How could a name be so terrifying to others?

"The only time you'll ever become affiliated with him will be through me," Azariel spoke, deep in thought. "And it'd be on my terms. We'd kill both brothers, leaving Drovania without a government. That'll leave this land for the taking."

Siarya stared at him in astonishment. "My Gods, Az. You're delving deep in treason against your own kind, here."

"You want to end this war? Make it one Kingdom."

"Look, I wouldn't mind ending this war. You know I wouldn't," she replied as she unfurled her bright white wings. He unfurled his own. "But the thought of having my parents rule over Drovania makes me sicker than the Royalty Drovania has at this very moment. I don't need another Kingdom bowing down to the porcelain beauty that is my culture."

"And if you become Queen?" He asked slowly.

She gave him a knowing look. "Been there, done that. It didn't work out."

"It's just a thought. If both Hawkensyre brothers were murdered, you'd be the one to take the throne. You'd have the power, aside from the Drovanian Council. But you don't have to listen to those crackpot council members."

Siarya took a deep, shaky breath. "I don't think the Drovanian population would favor me very much."

"So? It's called psychological warfare for a reason. Make them fear you, Sia. Give yourself a reputation they cannot forget."

"Maybe I don't want to be feared." Siarya said.

She stopped in her tracks when Azariel's gloved hand shot out in front of her. She looked up at him in question, only to see that his expression was contorted with disappointment and… anger. Siarya immediately sensed danger.

"What's wrong?" She asked, willing her voice not to crack.

It took a few moments before Azariel opened his mouth, "When are you going to stop caring?"

"Stop—?"

"Don't play dumb with me," he snarled furiously. Siarya nearly stepped back from the force of his anger, but his hand moved to clasp her shoulder with a bruising grip. "You are not a simple-minded wench anymore, Siarya, so tell me—when are you going to stop holding back your talents?"

"My talents?"

"Killing people," he clarified. Siarya felt herself go pale as he continued, "When are you going to shut that damning morality off, and let yourself go for once?"

Siarya gritted her teeth in irritation. "I have my values, Az."

"Who does? The girl who lived in her pretty little Hollow, or the girl who's been living in Drovania for a year?"

"Me," she answered sharply.

"You," he said, his voice flat and mocking. He let out a bark of laughter. "As if that explains everything."

"What's that supposed to mean?

Azariel stopped laughing. He tilted his head, his golden eyes studying her with such intensity it made her stomach clench. "You, with your morals. You, with all your compassion. Such beliefs will maim you, Siarya, you arrogant little child. Your remorse for your enemies will be the death of you, and it'll be men like Domonic and Dane Hawkensyre who will end your life. You don't know the power pulsing inside you until you let it out. You don't know who you are, what you're capable of, what greatness you can achieve—and I fear you never will."

Siarya tore herself away from his hold. Azariel's hand dropped to his side, and she could feel her shoulder throbbing, "I know exactly who I am. Don't you try to tell me otherwise just because I disagree with your demented mindset, Az."

"You do as I say and you kill—yes, Sia, don't you deny it—without verbal complaint," he continued to argue. "Yet, your remorse and your guilt clouds your judgment. You do bad things with the intent of good purposes, but that's not how life functions. You cannot be both. So do us all a favor, and _pick a bloody side!"_

"You were the one who told me I'd have to become this way in order to survive in these lands." Siarya snapped furiously.

"And I was right, wasn't I?" Azariel said without hesitation. "But we may not remain in Drovania forever. If circumstances call for it, you may walk upon Sephorian soil one day. I don't know when, and I don't know how, but when the time comes, you'll have to figure out who you are," he took a step closer, his face inches from hers. "And when you do, you'll have to decide whether you're going to be the dutiful daughter you've always dreamed of being, or the killer you know you are, _deep_ inside. It's your decision."

Siarya glared at him with all her might. Her heart was pounding against her ribcage from the anger bubbling under her skin. She clenched her fists, taking a few moments to answer, "I will not kill either of the Hawkensyre brothers unless they lay a hand upon Eriana, you understand me? Hurting them is not my job. It's not my priority. And if you have any common sense in that thick head of yours, you will think the same. Am I understood?"

A muscle in Azariel's jaw tightened, but he didn't say another word.

Siarya nodded in dismissal. "Let's move out, then."

At that, she took off into the air. He soon trailed close behind her, stiflingly silent. But that was okay, because she wasn't interested in hearing anything else he had to say to her. Especially about choosing a damn side.

It was something she didn't want to think about. She used to believe that she was perfect; her morality, her values, her beliefs—they were all so pristine and premade, passed down by generations of Sephorian pride and teachings… it had been _so _easy just to fall in line with the path already set up for her.

Drovania had messed everything up. Now she didn't know _what _she believed in.

Leaving the ground, she could at least let go of philosophy. Flying was liberation. Freedom. It helped to tear away the bonds which restrained her to the ground, letting her forget all her worries and pains for a bit. It allowed Siarya to shake off the concept of treason and murder for just a little while longer.

She had to admit that she liked Azariel sometimes. She _really _did. He, along with Mark, Ben, Darion, and Alana, were the closest people she had to family as a subject of exile. The others in the rebel group were those she knew, but never quite talked to—like Gray, the old man who hobbled around but never really spoke.

And, well, it'd be a lie if Azariel felt like a father sometimes. But how would _she_ know? Her father had never been around. He wasn't even there for her when she departed Sephoria to become King Domonic's new Queen.

When she left Sephoria, her father hadn't done anything. He hadn't even said goodbye. Now, after leaving her home for a year, Azariel was the one who thought goodbye wasn't even an option—no, he came _with _her. Because he cared more, and he _did _something about it, which that made all the difference.

Siarya allowed herself to breathe in the icy air from above, letting it fill her lungs as she pretended to trade the cold for warmth. Closing her eyes, she could almost imagine that she was dancing through the colorful skies, her white-wings kissing the rays of Starlight cascading down unto the amber Sephorian mountain ranges, her arms outstretched to embrace the dew of the clouds.

But when she opened her eyes, all she could see was pitch darkness. Like flying through an ocean at the very bottom; terrifying, lonely, and suffocating. The chill of the wind returned, and all traces of Sephoria's imaginary warmth disappeared.

Siarya glanced at the bare skin of her hands. They were a stark white. Her skin used to be an ivory tan, colored by Starlight, nurtured by heat. Now, having been in Drovania for a year, everything about her was pale as snow.

Drovania sucked the life out of everything it could. Her skin, her liveliness, her innocence. She'd even become much thinner—from malnourishment, probably. Her limbs were bony and her flesh was sunken in, defining the slopes of her collarbone and ribcage, and even her spine. She knew it wasn't healthy, but there wasn't much to do about it.

They touched ground in a field near the outskirts of a village. She let her wings furl in reluctantly, and Azariel waited as she quickly bound them into secrecy.

She wondered how many people were inside the village, going on with their busy lives, unaware that the most wanted woman in the entire Kingdom was standing directly outside their doorstep.

That posed a good question. "Az, how am I going to get near Stellania without being seen? I'm the only Sephorian here for miles."

"We'll have to find a way," he replied as he studied the surroundings. There wasn't a trace of anger in his voice, and Siarya could tell that the previous discussion wasn't forgotten, but put in the past. "What we need to do is get through the village here. It leads to the docks, which is basically right next to the citadel where Stellania works. It's also within a mile or two of the Drovanian Castle. With the fastest fliers, it'll take only about ten to fifteen minutes for soldiers to get here if they're called."

"And then what?"

"We improvise," he stated simply as he moved forward to lift the hood of her cloak over her head, carefully hiding her obvious golden hair. He tipped the hood forward so it shadowed her face, keeping her identity a secret. The gesture was almost fatherly, "Don't move your head much, and hopefully it'll stay like that. Your hair tends to ruin your disguise—as you know, there aren't a lot of blonde Drovanians."

Siarya remembered how she'd tucked Eriana's hair from view when they'd snuck out of the Hollow. A wave of affection went through her, and she smiled up at Azariel with shining eyes, "I'll try."

He raised an eyebrow, as if uncomfortable with the show of appreciation. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" She asked.

"If people see your eyes, they'll know it's you."

"My bad," she blushed sheepishly. He lifted up his hood, but unlike Siarya, he displayed his face. She then asked, "How come you're allowed to show yourself?"

"Because, unlike you, these people won't recognize me."

"Why not?" Siarya asked. "Who were you before this, anyways?"

He gave her an odd look. "No one special, I guarantee you."

"An occupation, maybe?" She inquired as they began to walk into the village. "I could see you being some expert weapon smith gone rogue or something."

"Keep your voice down," he hissed, tugging at her arm. "You'll attract company."

The sight of the village took her thoughts away immediately; every step fascinated her all over again. Strangely, she found herself missing the rustling busy lives of civil life, of being part of something every day. Having a reason to wake up; a job, a person, a life. Not about learning another way of hurting someone, or accidentally finding a way to make one of Mark and Ben's contraptions explode.

"Lady and gentleman?" A scrawny man jumped in front of them with a tray of what looked like blue shrimp. Most of his teeth were missing and he wore a ragged top hat. "Would you like a sample of our finest Jezzleneck Shrimp?"

Siarya stood there, aghast, unable to speak. The salesman was the only other person outside the bandit group who had talked to her for the first time in a year.

It was such an odd feeling being back.

"No thank you, we're fine." Azariel replied with ease, as though he did this every day. _How could he be so calm?_

Siarya let out a breath of relief when the salesmen let them pass. Her clammy palms curled into fists to stop the trembling of nerves. Azariel gave her an apprehensive look. "Are you alright?"

"Uh, yeah," she stammered softly. Quickly, the village began to diminish into storage areas and placements. The scent of an ocean wafted with the breeze, although the water ahead was so black that it simply blended into the sky. "I haven't been inside civilized walls for so long now. Give me a bit of time and I'll be fine again."

It wasn't just civilization that made her nervous. It was the fact that she was surrounded by dozens of Drovanians, who, if provoked, could easily lead to manslaughter. It was as though she were walking into a hornet's hive, and she was the enemy. The threat against the queen, the honey thief, the one who doesn't belong.

It just takes one Drovanian to confirm her worst fears. One mistake, one slip of her disguise, and the entire village would rise up against her like a tidal wave. Siarya tensed as they walked past her, oblivious to her ethnicity, and she inhaled deep breaths to slow her racing heartbeat.

"Well, my lady," Azariel mocked a proper, haughty tone of a noble. She furrowed her eyebrows in puzzlement as she had never heard him ever address her so politely. "Have no fear. I have an idea."

"Does it involve violent treason?" Siarya asked hoarsely. She cleared her throat, "Because I think I've had enough of that for one day."

A man carrying a long brown chest stumbled past them, grunting at its weight. He appeared to be an old sailor; most likely, he had just gotten off a boat. Maybe the chest was cargo.

"Boy," Azariel called out roughly, making the man stop. Siarya stared at him, confused. "What are you doing with that?"

The man glanced at the chest in his arms. "Taking it to the same place as everything. The storage stacks. Why?"

"The storage stacks?!" Azariel sputtered, looking exasperated. "Are you a fool? That chest is an antique! Did I not personally request a special spot in my cargo pile for my chest?"

The man paled. "I was not aware that there had been any requests."

"You're a blind fool," he marched forward and jabbed his finger at the chest. "You should have seen that my name is carved into the chest itself. Unless, of course, you're a thief. Maybe then I should just have a talk with your captain to see about how I feel about you handling my cargo—"

The chest, indeed, had initials carved into the lid, spelling out T.S.R. The initials did not make out Azariel's name, however, but the man didn't ask. Instead, he handed the chest over to Azariel. "I apologize. It will never happen again."

"Better not," Azariel grumbled as he turned away from the man in fury. "I paid decent gold for this, and I'm still treated as such. Sailors! They're all the same," he gave the man one last look. "Scram! Or I'll make an appointment with your money-maker."

The man jolted, and then sped away immediately.

Siarya folded her arms with a smug look. "Was there a certain reason you just took something that wasn't really yours?"

Azariel opened the chest. It was large and narrow, and full of clothes that appeared to belong to an old man. He turned the chest upside down, dumping everything out hastily. He set the chest back down. "That'll do it."

"What are you even doing?" Siarya asked as she indicated towards the dropped clothes. "Trying to make the owner cry?"

"Trust me. You need this chest more than the owner." Azariel replied as he took a step back, studying the size.

"How is this going to help me? It just looks like a burden to me."

"People aren't going to see you, Sia," Azariel said with a giddy smirk. Siarya instantly groaned. "Because you're going to be completely hidden."

"Oh, come on!" Siarya exclaimed, peering into the chest. It was humid and stifling already. "It smells like death in there."

"Do you want to get caught?" He asked as he knelt beside her. "Doing this will make everything much easier. For both of us."

Siarya was shaking her head when she reluctantly crawled into the chest. Unfortunately, although cramped, she managed to fit inside with her unhealthily thin frame. "I can't believe you're making me do this. You better buy me something nice later—like a new pair of boots. The one with the straps."

"Hush, my Queen." He said with a smug face as he shut the lid on her. She kicked it open just to mess with him, giving him a sly look, but he closed it again forcefully as she laughed. The laughter only lasted for a few seconds, however, when the aroma of the chest engulfed her.

She automatically felt uncomfortable. It smelled like old men, the special kind of scent that comes from decaying. That, and musty shoes.

She felt herself become lifted. Azariel carried her smoothly, obviously without trouble. She ought to have weighed more than the clothes, but then again, Azariel was always strongest of the group.

She sniffed again, hoping that the smell wouldn't seep into her clothes later.

The next half hour or so, or at least in Siarya's standards, consisted of thumping and grunting and uncomfortable rustling. At some points, people even talked to Azariel, which he would stop for a second and converse with them so easily that it was almost normal. _He must be so used to this._

After a long period of walking, Azariel finally stopped at the word, _"Halt."_

"It's a package for the Seer. New innovations sent from Gardiland." She heard him say. Where was Gardliand? Did he make that up?

Azariel fumbled the chest around, causing Siarya to curse under her breath. Suddenly being shaken, she could feel her head smack around the claustrophobic walls in discomfort. She gritted her teeth in annoyance. _What in the world is he doing?_

"In." A deep voice spoke. Azariel moved forward, and she could feel her heart pounding.

She heard many more voices, but one in particular caught Siarya's attention. A woman's.

Someone said Azariel's name. Doors were then shut, and Siarya felt herself be placed on the ground. Oh, _thank the Gods._

"Stella…"

The sound of boots rang out against the floor, vibrating softly in the chest. A sudden spank of flesh against flesh sounded out, making Siarya freeze in the chest. "You _bastard!"_

"Good to see you again, too." Azariel said. Surprisingly, he sounded very amused.

"Why are you here?" She heard the woman hiss. "Out of all places, you choose _here _to show yourself? Are you out of your goddamn mind? You're not even disguised!"

"No one is going to notice me here, Stella. And I have business that requires your help. You think my reasoning wouldn't be important if I had come all the way here?"

Siarya, unable to take it anymore, kicked the top of the chest off with all her might. The wood splintered, and the lid actually flew off a few feet further than she had expected. Her muscles ached as she stood up, stretching.

They were in a wide, circular, and windowed room that overlooked the villages in all sides. Glass desks circulated the room, along with many modern bookshelves and showcases filled with odd-looking artifacts. Maroon curtains adorned the windows and even a small, decorative rug lay neatly on the wooden floor. On the left were an array of food carts, filled with dried meat and a couple basins of water.

A stout woman with messy black hair and hard, criticizing stormy eyes gaped at Siarya as if she were a mutant. She was scrawny, with a strong, intellectual face that contained a sort of rough beauty. She didn't have a lot of scars compared to Drovanians, and her complexion was very pale.

She turned to Azariel and gave him another slap. Siarya stood there, secretly in shock, as Azariel took it smoothly. He didn't even bother to fight back.

_"_You brought her _here?!"_ The woman was attempting to keep quiet, but it proved to be difficult for her. "Her? Are _you fucking serious_?"

Siarya blinked, surprised by the woman's blunt response. "Nice to meet you, too."

"Stella," Azariel took her by the shoulders. "You have to listen. We need your help."

"Ahaha! I don't think so. I'm done with those days, I told you. I'm not helping you anymore." Stellania exclaimed as she waved her hands around in a crazed flourish.

"This isn't for me," Azariel insisted through gritted teeth. He nodded towards Siarya. "It's for her."

Stellania glanced at Siarya with obvious disdain. "She's a wanted criminal."

He raised his eyebrow. "Aren't we all?"

"No, we're _not_." Stellania snapped back. Azariel rolled his eyes.

"I'm asking you for a favor. That's all." Azariel persisted as he followed Stellania around the circular room. She obviously made it clear that she wished to avoid him. She occupied herself by pouring herself a glass of golden whiskey.

She threw her head back, sloshing the drink in her mouth before gulping it down. "Shit, Az. This really isn't the time."

"It's not the time, or you just don't want to help?" He replied as he eyed her accusingly. She scowled, guzzling down another drink.

_"Both."_

"Come on, Stella…" Azariel whined. His expression grew very sad, like a puppy pouting. "We're risking our lives to talk to you. We walked miles to get here, and could've been killed by coming into the village."

"Then you shouldn't have come."

"You're the only friend I have," Azariel persisted. "_Please?"_

She glared at him. "You're an insufferable jackass."

"Yes, but I'm _your_ insufferable jackass." Azariel replied with a sweet grin.

Stellania, however, was unimpressed with his wit. "Even if I wanted to help you, I'm too busy."

"That's what you always say," Azariel said. "And you were never too busy whenever we—"

"I'm not lying!" Stellania snapped before he could get his words out. Azariel smirked mischievously as she began flipping through pages of scattered books. "Don't be stupid. And _don't _mention our past, or I swear to the Gods, I will tie your cock in a knot."

"Then explain things to me." Azariel asked as he loomed over her, forever unfazed by vulgar language. Stellania was fuming, glowering at him as if she were irritated by the proximity between his body and hers. Siarya crossed her arms at the sight, eyebrow raised pointedly.

"You want to know why I don't have time for you right now?" She asked, fury trickling into her words. "I'll tell you why."

Azariel's golden eyes glanced at Siarya, almost nervously. Things obviously weren't going according to plan.

Siarya ignored his gaze and lowered her arms, letting her fingertips trail along the glass tables. She listened silently.

"Strange stuff has been happening lately," Stellania explained as she scanned a page of a book. The words appeared to be in a different language far from Siarya's knowledge. "Villages are being burned to the ground without a source of the fire, energetic levels in the atmosphere are increasing, climates are growing warmer without a reason," she stopped, peering up at them. "I was informed last night that a horse had given birth to a pack of poisonous lizards."

Siarya furrowed her brows. "How does that even…?"

"Don't ask," Stellania shot her a look. _"Trust_ me."

"Well," Azariel let out a bark of laughter. "That certainly categorizes as unusual in my book."

"It's not funny! Something very odd is making magical events awaken," Stellania spoke uneasily, her messy bangs hanging over her stormy blue eyes. "Something in the air is triggering an imbalance in nature, and people are noticing it. It's getting more difficult trying to cover it up and keep people from panicking."

"What do you think it is?" Siarya asked quietly.

"My guess," she murmured as she slammed her finger onto an illustration on a yellowed page within one of the many books sprawled around her. "It's either something coming that's really great, or very, _very _bad."

Azariel and Siarya moved forward to study the picture. Siarya felt her heart skip a beat; upon the ancient page, surrounded by scribbles of different languages and captions, was a picture of a spiked creature spitting out a mighty ball of white-hot flames from its jagged mouth. "You think… Dragons?"

Stellania stuck her hands in her pockets. "I can't say for sure. It's been thousands of years since anything like this has happened before. Usually when the unexpected happens, we have another time and place of which the same thing has occurred, and we know the symptoms and how to handle it. I'm no expert on Dragons, but whatever it is, I wouldn't want to get near it."

"Where could they be coming from?" Siarya asked, peering up from the page.

Stellania shrugged. "Hon, there's a whole world of darkness out there. Grab a lantern and I'm sure you'll find their nest somewhere. Little buggers must be just getting out of hibernation."

"Here's the thing," Azariel turned to her with his arms crossed, clearly unfazed by Stellania's concern. "The whole thing about the Dragons… Well, it's interesting, it really is. But it's not why we're here."

Stellania raised an eyebrow. "What do you want? Money?"

"No," he frowned, as if offended. Siarya glanced at him suspiciously, who shrugged it off. "Just information on how to get into the Drovanian Castle unscathed."

"The Castle?" Stellania asked, obviously alarmed. "What d'you wanna go back there for?"

"None of your concern," Azariel replied with ease. "Just a little visit to the Castle dungeons, that's all."

She squinted. "That's that _last_ place you want to be, Az."

"What can I say? I live on the edge."

Stellania studied him for a few moments, her mouth scrunched up in thought. Her stormy eyes narrowed dangerously, "You're looking to break someone out, aren't you?"

Siarya said "yes," as Azariel said immediately said "no." They exchanged furtive looks.

"I see," Stellania said, obviously amused. She smirked. "Look, I already told you I wasn't going to help you. But hey, I heard there was an Oracle hanging around in Aliyah—Zeremiath, I think his name was? Something like that—he'll give you any answers you want to know about anything."

Siarya didn't know a lot about Oracles. They were bad men who had no souls, and that was all she really knew. Sephoria called their kind the _Brotherhood,_ like the other end of the spectrum where the Sisterhood resided, the great coven of Witches.

Nevertheless, she wasn't about go searching for some Oracle. "We don't have time for that," Siarya declared. "This person we're trying to save—she's in danger."

Stellania studied her. Then, her eyes lit up in realization, "You're trying to save your sister, aren't you?"

Siarya swallowed dryly. Shifting on her feet, she asked, "What if I am?"

"Then it's an impossible mission," Stellania replied, almost pityingly. Siarya's heart fell, "You're not going to be able to break your sister out without help—help I'm afraid I cannot give. Try hiring an army. You'll at least get past the _first _line of defense, considering she ought to be in the most secured area of the dungeons."

"We know," Siarya said. "It's dangerous. It's well-secured. It's suicidal, even, but we're going into that Castle. We just need a plan, and you're the only one who I—well, who Azariel believes can help us."

Stellania pursed her lips in thought. Then, after a few long moments, she sighed in frustration before turning to Siarya. Her expression was soft, "If I can get a scent, I can track 'em."

"You'll help?" Azariel asked in surprise.

"I might," she said hesitantly. "But I can't guarantee you a way in. That'll be your job. But I can tell you where she is in the Dungeons, if you get there on time, anyways."

Siarya frowned. "On time?"

"You don't know?" Stellania asked. "King Domonic made a declaration a while back, right after the kidnapping of Princess Eriana. He claimed that if you didn't come to surrender, the Princess would be killed off by the Summer Solstice."

"What?!" Siarya shot forward in panic. She peered over to Azariel, who stood expressionless. "I didn't know there was a time limit!"

"Don't look at me," Azariel replied flatly. "I didn't know either."

"But that leaves us…" Siarya counted the days in her mind. "Half a month?"

"Which is plenty of time." Azariel assured her softly.

"Only if I get a scent for the little chick," Stellania said, making both of them glance her way. "Without one, you'll be put on a wild goose chase tryin' to find your darling sister."

"What kind of scent?" Siarya inquired. Her heart skipped a beat with hope.

"Oh, I don't know. A dog tag, a sign that they're different from the rest," Stellania explained with a wave of her hand. "An odd deformity, a significant aura, a magical object… things like that."

"And if we give you this… scent," Siarya said slowly. "You can find out _exactly _where my sister is?"

"Indeed, I can."

"How?" Siarya asked.

"With this beauty right here." Stellania answered as she walked over to a white orb that stood in the middle of the room, directly in front of the various wide windows. She placed her hand against the cool surface of the orb, and at her touch, it glowed radiantly. "It's how I track irregularities in the populous. Works best with tracking Witches and the like, but if your sister is stuck in the Castle Dungeons, this sweet little orb will point out directly where she is. It'll even tell me the cell number."

"You can really do that?"

"Well, it's my job," Stellania grinned half-heartedly. "You see, I keep track of levels of magic-use throughout the land due to the paranoia of the King. He likes to know where his Witches stay. It's how I can tell that there's something weird going on out there—the energy levels are spiking, and it's not Witch-magic that's making things go chaotic. It's something darker."

"How long will it take?" Azariel asked as he checked the time. "We don't have a lot of time."

"Ten, maybe fifteen minutes depending on the scent."

Siarya nodded, frowning slightly. "I have a scent for Eriana."

Azariel shot her an odd look. "You do?"

"I do," Siarya replied. She walked over to Stellania. "But only if you _really _promise to help us."

Stellania stole a glance at Azariel, her expression hard and impassive. She looked as though she were struggling with an answer. She sighed, rolling her eyes, before walking over to her whiskey and pouring another shot.

When she drank the shot, she coughed and turned back to them both. "I do promise."

Siarya grinned in anticipation. Relief washed over her. "You do?

"I do," she replied candidly. "But _only_ if you never come to me for help again."

"Deal!" Siarya exclaimed before Azariel could protest. She shook hands with Stellania.

"That's hardly fair." Azariel commented, but his words were silenced when Siarya shot him a hot glare.

Stellania turned away from them and quickly became preoccupied with the orb. Siarya moved back to Azariel's side, who looked immensely grumpy. She nudged him in the shoulder. "Don't pout. It's unattractive."

"I'm not pouting."

"You are," Siarya said with a small smile. She nodded over to Stellania, who was now concentrating fiercely on the orb. "You _knew _her, huh?"

He glared at her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She tilted her head, her bright eyes glittering suggestively. "I'm not saying anything."

"No, but you're thinking it."

"I don't know what you're implying." Siarya replied.

"I know what you're doing," Azariel leaned closer to Siarya's ear, out of range from Stellania. "And Stella and I are just friends."

Siarya raised a brow. "Friends who did _what,_ exactly?"

"Oh, you know," a faint blush painted his cheeks. "Adventures."

"Ah." Siarya glanced at Stellania again, this time more nervously. What if she failed?What if they are led to the wrong direction? They couldn't take a chance like that. It would be too dangerous, especially when surrounded by the dangers of Vortrea.

Azariel seemed to be reading Siarya's mind, because he said then, "Stella knows what she's doing, Sia. There's a reason I came to her. She will tell us where Eriana is hidden in the Castle, and we'll get out of there alive. Trust me."

"I do," Siarya whispered. "But how can we trust _her?"_

"Because I do." Azariel answered. As if that made things final.

"Siarya," Stellania called her name. "I need the scent."

Siarya walked up to the orb. It looked hot to the touch, but Stellania's hands were clamped on the smooth surface like it was nothing. "It could be anything?"

"Anything unique that will help the orb find the person," Stellania explained. "There are thousands of people out there. Choose thoughtfully."

Siarya licked her lips, wondering if this was such a good idea. She'd promised to Eriana that she'd keep her safe. Revealing this could compromise everything.

But she had to find her sister.

"It's magic." Siarya confessed. Stellania looked up from the orb to give her an odd, withering look. She didn't ask questions, though, and nodded silently. Siarya could feel Azariel staring at her from behind. She knew he'd have questions, but she wasn't interested in telling them, especially to him.

"Magic object or magic person?" Stellania asked. She kept her voice monotone, as if appearing disinterested in the matter.

"Magic…person." Siarya stammered.

"Okay," Stellania replied. "This'll only take a second, then."

A sudden beam of searing verdant light shot from the orb, burning directly outside. It lit up the room like a beacon, and the heat of the light blasted against their faces. Stellania jumped away from the heat of the beam.

Stellania appeared bewildered. "What in the…"

Siarya raced towards her eagerly as Stella stood, gaping at the beam, her hand still clasped to the orb. It was a thick, fiery, neon green that illuminated their faces like a wildfire. "What's wrong?"

"It's…" she stuttered in surprise. "It's just the type of magic I'm channeling. It's very dark. Are you _sure _magic is your sister's scent?"

Azariel and Siarya exchanged glances. "Why?"

Stella gave them an uneasy expression. "I don't approve of this, you know. There's something off about your sister. Her magic feels too dark, even for a Witch. It's like it's…_demonic."_

"Don't be foolish!" Siarya snapped at her. "Stop messing around and tell me where she is."

"I'm not messing around," Stellania said angrily. "You could be lying because she's your sister, you know."

"I'm not—"Siarya started, fury beginning to bubble up inside her. "I'm _not_ lying! My sister is innocent, and I don't need your unnecessary commentary. You said you'd show us where she is in the Castle, so shut up and do your damn job."

"Look, Princess," Stellania took a step towards Siarya, violence thrumming in her eyes. "I know evil when I see it, and I can tell that whatever you want out of the Dungeons, should probably _stay_ in the Dungeons. There's no way I'm letting something powerful like that into the Kingdom—"

Before she could finish, Siarya felt herself get knocked to the ground with a big _whoosh. _Blinking in confusion, she realized that Azariel was lying on top of her.

But it only lasted a few seconds before he whirled around to block a blow from behind. A man in Drovanian armor stood before them, a club in hand. He raised the weapon again and Azariel grabbed the hilt. He pushed back and the brunt of the blow slammed into the guard's skull.

The guard stumbled back in surprise, dropping the club as he did so. Azariel shot forward and grasped the sides of the man's head, breaking his neck in a quick and easy snap. Azariel stood unaffected, his demeanor smooth as ice as the man dropped to his knees.

Stellania stood in shock, her mouth gaping open. Siarya, however, remained alert and focused as a group of twenty to thirty soldiers crowded the room, surrounding them. All in Drovanian armor; all deadly soldiers. Each with weapons drawn.

Panic filled Siarya. There were a lot of them.

She gave Azariel a stern look, who looked just as concerned. They'd been found._ But how?_

Azariel nodded curtly as he scanned the army around them. She felt herself instinctively move slightly closer to him as she fingered the knives hooked into her belt.

"Take out all of your weapons," a heavyset man barked at them. He was tall and muscular, with dark skin and bloodshot eyes. He had a scraggly grey beard and wore a mean, sour look on his face. When they did not move, he grew impatient. "I order you to remove your weapons. _Now!"_

She still did not move. Stellania made a muffled yelp when one of the soldiers grabbed her from behind, smothering her screams. She kicked and struggled but they held her tight.

Azariel jolted slightly. "What are you doing with her?"

The man gave him a steely look. "Stellania Aribitum, you have been rightly accused of treason against the King and will be brought into justice. You will be stripped of your title and your belongings and will serve within the court as the Majesty's prisoner. You are not given the right to speak or object; all words will be held against you."

Siarya leaned into Azariel and whispered softly_. "What are we going to do?"_

He paused for a moment. "It must have been the man we stole the chest from. He's the only one we conversed with who had been given the chance to pay attention to us. I need you to get out of here."

"But you're going to come with," she said harshly. "I _know_ what you're thinking, Az, but I need you."

"Your sister is important," he hissed as he withdrew his weapons. The men shouted at him to drop them, but he held his ground. "You find her, and you get her to safety."

"Without_ you?"_ Siarya retorted a little too loudly. "Are you joking?"

Azariel snarled and suddenly grabbed her arm with an iron grip that made Siarya wince. "There are things in this world that you cannot begin to comprehend. I need you to be prepared for what's coming; strengthen yourself. I did not teach you to be tough for nothing. Forget about your fears; do only what you're supposed to do. What you were _born_ to do."

She gaped at him. _"What—?"_

Azariel slashed a guard who stepped forward to lunge at him, killing him instantly. This death shot up a flame of chaos; the soldiers roared, bursting forward with their weapons drawn. Azariel spun his weapons in his hands with ease as two of them attacked him. He managed to give them deathblows before they could even touch him. Like death himself, men fell at his feet.

Three men came after her in particular. Not particularly wanting to kill them, Siarya picked out a curved knife from her belt and threw it in a way that it slashed two of the men and managed to make its way back to her; she caught it in her hand effortlessly. Leaping up, she grabbed one of the curtains that hung from the windows and swung out, kicking one of them in the face with her heels. He was knocked backwards and he fell onto one of the food carts. A bowl of water fell on top of him, making the floor slippery.

The two other men, both bleeding, caught her. She blocked their punches faster than she could think, moving blindly, and kicked out her leg so that one of them fell. Taking this advantage, she cut into the standing man's leg with her secondary dagger, carefully avoiding slicing into an artery. From this sudden pain, he slipped in the puddle of water and fell, holding his leg and attempting to block the heavy flow of blood.

But more were coming; she couldn't risk staying here another minute. Azariel grabbed her arm, momentarily free. "Go, Sia. _Now."_

She grasped his hands desperately. "What about you? Az, I need you. I don't know what's out there; I'm unfamiliar with Drovanian lands_. You_ know the way better than I ever—"

"—Sia, please. I cannot leave Stella." He cut her off. For a moment, forced emotion played in his eyes. Siarya let out a quick, ragged breath.

But the momentary leisure time quickly passed when the soldiers approached them once more. Siarya gave him one last look as ten to fifteen guards left gathered around them. She bit her lip, hoping to catch her last desperate attempt to not leave him behind. "We can take them out together."

He pushed her away just as he whirled around to kill three soldiers that came up to him with swords slashing. "Get out of here. Find Eriana. You keep flying, Sia, and don't look back."

Her heart pounded against her chest. "Azariel—!"

He turned away from her to become fully engaged in the fight. _"Go!"_

She unfurled her magnificent, captivating white wings. They lit up the room, attracting the guard's attention. Before they could attack her, however, she shot past them fast enough to send them falling backward against themselves. Grabbing one of the dead guards by their armor, she lifted him up with a grunt, and forcefully threw him against one of the windows. The glass shattered and the man fell through.

Avoiding the jagged edges, she flew out of the building at the speed of light. The bright green beam was still burning until it diminished from a female guard crushing the orb with her weight.

To Siarya's dismay, she heard a tremendous amount of wings behind her, similar to a flock of a hundred ravens.

She'd have to get rid of them somehow.

Siarya revolved herself around faster than an arrow and flourished her wrists where eight needle-like spikes slid out—something that Ben and Mark had made for her. She counted around nine guards following her. They were frantic, attempting to keep up with her speed. The mechanism clicked into place and she flipped her hands, where the needles charged out directly at them.

The guards dodged the needles a few split seconds before they made contact with them. Some of them sneered, and some even shouted humiliating statements at her due to her failure. But she was flying as far away from them as possible when the needles exploded, causing the guards to break apart and crash towards the ground. Screams escalated when the needles sprayed fire against their hot armor and sent them ripping off their metal and hurtling towards the trees below, hitting branches and falling to the depths of darkness.

They had been foolish, but it was not over. Civilization lay before her; and if certain eyes caught her and the wings that she possessed, more killers would come for her. She soared higher into the charcoal sky so that from the ground she only appeared to be a white bird, but there was nothing she could do to keep herself invisible. The skies were too dark, and she was too bright. Azariel was right; flying was suicidal.

She heard shouting. Peering around her shoulder, she saw that six guards had escaped the exploding needles and had caught sight of her once again. Groaning, she kept the shadowed hood of her cloak over her head and kept moving.

A few hills loomed over the horizon and she darted towards them. Small holes speckled the rotting ground that she saw were actually little entrances. _Mining tunnels? _

Wind tore at her skin as she bolted downwards in a sudden drop, from which the Drovanians followed just as precisely. Wings crashing through the air, the environment around her became a clouded blur as she entered one of the tunnels and disappeared within split seconds. Then everything became dark. Suddenly unaware of her surroundings, she smacked into a jagged rock that must have been poking out of the wall of the tunnel. Her shoulder throbbed with pain. It slowed her down enough to see that the guards had followed her inside the tunnel.

Siarya panicked. They weren't going to stop.

She regained herself and flew farther down into the tunnel. She moved blindly, dodging obstacles as they came inches from her view. The guards followed her with ease as they were accustomed to the dark. For a moment fear gripped Siarya's mind as she noticed how much faster they were compared to her while engulfed in this darkness.

Pushing away this fear, she pushed against walls as she attempted to navigate her way through the rugged tunnel. The sharp rock scraped at her skin and leather as she slammed into their surfaces. The guards weaved through it all like a family of wasps in their hive.

She crashed into a hard wall for the final time. Her wings flapped, attempting to find an exit, but she felt that she was stuck. It was a dead end. Mind racing, she clawed at the walls enclosing on her, terror-stricken at the thought of being cornered by six guards without a way of sight, where they had the advantage. Digging through her supplies, she blindly found a round ball the size of an apple. It was the last contraption that she'd taken from Ben and Mark.

The round ball was made to set fire to vast fields of weeds in hopes that new life would grow in its place. Although it never worked, they had kept a few of them in case they would be once needed. Fortunately, they were also very dangerous.

Then she heard them—their wings. Seeing figures of movement in the darkness, someone shouted at her and she smashed the ball into the rocky ground. The ball shattered like glass and due to an odd chemical reaction, the area was lit up with exploding light.

Siarya jumped backwards into one of the nooks in the walls, shielding herself from the white-hot fire that snaked itself through like a gigantic weaving beam. She could hear their screams, and as she dared to look up, she saw the guards flying the opposite way. The fire was chasing them, snapping its fiery jaws hungrily. The air swayed with the building heat and she felt the ground tremble as the fire ate at its core.

_The tunnel's going to collapse, _Siarya thought suddenly.

She darted down to the part of the tunnel that she had not seen before in the dark. Pebbles and dust rained upon her and irritated her eyes. Coughing, she tumbled through the breaking tunnel as heavier rocks began to fall, hitting her on the way down.

The exit was invisible to her. She had no idea where she was going, or even if she was going the right way.

Fire roared behind her as it chased her, engulfing the entire tunnel behind her in blood-red flames. Eyes searing, she pushed herself forward desperately as she kicked against walls and dug into the crevices of the rocks to gain momentum. By dodging a rock that broke off from the ceiling, a boulder-like object pinned her to the ground like an insect being caught.

The fire was coming at her like mad. Panicking, she nudged against the rock, managing to pull herself out to the point where the boulder was merely holding down her legs. But it was heavy, and she was not so strong. Siarya grunted mournfully as she pushed with all her might against the boulder that was crushing her body. The heat of the chasing fire was rising up and beads of sweat sprouted upon her brow.

She could see the fire.

_ Ten feet away._

Just one more push.

_Four feet away._

With a cry of desperation she escaped from under the rock, only to throw herself in the opposite direction of the fire. She landed in something bone-chillingly cold and wet; but soft and numbingly refreshing. Hearing the blowing of the fire above her, the flames were ignoring her and disappearing into the open air with nothing to burn.

Siarya clenched her fists and gasped in relief. She was surrounded with white. Ecstatic, she recognized it as _snow._ Holding the icy substance in her hands, she laughed, and even rolled around in the beautiful length of it. It was at least three feet deep where she lay in, and she let it numb her wounds and burns.

The fire ceased, and it was silent only for the rustle of the branches in the trees. The air smelled of metal and smoke, and she had absolutely no idea where she was.

Anxiously, she picked herself up from the ground and shook off the bright snow from her black cloak. Azariel had to be fine; he knew how to take care of himself. He couldn't lose to simple Royal guards.

But Siarya wasn't sure if it was her mind telling her that or her heart.

Tall pointed mountains circled the area, all of which were covered with heavy snow. She'd have to go back. She knew that. Despite the danger, despite all of her plans going wrong, she had to return. To Eriana, and Azariel.

But for now, she'd have to keep going.

Little to her knowledge, of course, that she was still being studied with a pair of dark and watchful eyes from a distance far, far away from where she stood.

~.~

_**Alana**_

She was sitting at a table with a can of metallic-tasting water, conversing naturally with Mark and Arturo, when she abruptly stood up, recklessly tossing over a stool. The others watched her in surprise, but she only saw Lionel who stumbled out from the spectral woods like a damaged ghost, his usually dark skin a pale tan due to trauma. His eyes puffed out red and the right side of his face swollen with a ghastly cut. He limped with a heavy man against him, which Alana immediately made out to be Darion. Her stomach dropped.

_"No."_ She whispered, choking.

"What is it?" Arturo turned around, and with a look of sudden realization and fear, he stood up as well and hollered out. "_Hey!_ We need help out here!"

"No—!" Alana started, lurching forward, but Mark stopped her with his hand.

"Alana…" He warned her softly, but she couldn't see him. All she could see was Darion, who Lionel was placing safely on the ground. Neatly. _Too_ kindly. Instantly other men, good friends, poured out of their tents with weapons ready.

She brushed Mark's arm away. She would not cry, because Darion was not gone. He was still here; just hurt. That's why Lionel had helped him lie down. Not simply placing him, but helping him. Because he's weak, _not_ unconscious.

"Mama?" Jesse called out for her, but she did not hear. _I've already lost your father; I'm not going to lose another one too._

"Darion," she whispered. Suddenly, she was at his side, not remembering how fast she had ran to him or how she nearly fell to her knees to be beside him. "Darion, wake up. You have to wake up now."

Something similar to a cry of pain escaped her throat when he did not open his eyes. She started to shake him; gently at first, then desperately. "Darion! Wake up!"

Her hands felt cold. She then realized that they were wet from frighteningly red blood. Screaming out, she felt arms embrace her from behind. They pulled her away despite her heels that dragged into the dirt. Her cheeks felt hot with tears as she sobbed out his name. "No! _Don't do this!"_

"Get Alana out of here!" Ben snarled as he knelt next to Darion's lifeless form. His fingers were touching the gaping bloody hole in Darion's chest.

"Come on, love," Mark's soft voice murmured in her ear as he tugged her along. "It's alright. Everything's okay. Come along…"

"_No, no, no, no…" _She cried dreadfully. "I can't lose you, too. You can't be dead, _you can't be dead!"_

Lionel sat on a bench near Darion's body. He hid his face with his calloused hands, but his shoulders were shaking. Jesse tugged at his sleeve. Opening his hands, Lionel's face was dry but in pain.

Arturo and a few other men kneeled down to watch Ben inspect Darion. Grey, who had hobbled out blindly with his walking stick, stood with his eyes gazing out into the trees. He saw nothing, but heard everything.

"He's gone," Ben announced quietly as he stood up. He wiped his tremulous hands with his handkerchief, his fingers sodden with red. "Lionel, you must tell us what happened."

Alana made a whimpering sound as she crumbled in Mark's arms. Jesse cried out to the sight of his withering mother, but her body shuddered with tears of forlorn despair. Her throat felt bruised from swelling; she couldn't breathe. She couldn't think.

She ignored the sounds of Jesse being dragged away somewhere else, but she didn't bother to see by whom. She could hear the desperation in his voice, the tears in his big brown eyes.

She had _sworn_ to herself that she would never feel this pain again. She shouldn't have let Darion out of her sight. Gods, Jesse's confusion was killing her; she was going to have to _tell_ him.

Lionel sullenly looked up, his expression hard. "We were walking near the southern boarders of the forest in search of food. We went too far to the edge; a Drovanian man found us. He killed Darion but I managed to escape."

"You managed to drag Darion all the way here?" Grey asked roughly. "Is the killer still alive?"

"Yes," Lionel replied gratingly. "I didn't kill him."

"Why not?" Mark asked.

"Because it was _him,_ Mark," Lionel snapped. Everyone exchanged glances. "You-know-who."

_"Him..?"_ Arturo whispered, eyes wide. "What was he doing all the way out here?"

"Did he want anything?" Ben asked carefully. "One does not venture into this forest to simply pick flowers. Especially not men like him."

Lionel hesitated apprehensively. "You know how the Kingdom is. They just really want to find our precious Sia," he shook his head. "This killer just found us instead."

Arturo's fists were clenched. "I'm going to go save her."

Lionel immediately stood up, the palm of his hand pressed against Arturo's thin chest. "She doesn't need to be saved."

"She's in danger out there!" He exclaimed wildly. "I don't care if she's with Azariel or not. I don't care! We have to go find her."

"We must do what is right and be patient," Grey spoke up hoarsely. Arturo became quiet. "We will not move. We will stay put. If we interfere with Sia's plans, we may end up becoming more of a burden than we realized."

Arturo's large blue eyes glistened with tears. "Darion's dead, Alana's inconsolable, and Azariel and Sia have gone Gods only knows where, and we aren't going to do a thing about it? She could be _dead._"

Alana did not react to Arturo's statement. She had her head buried inside of her arms as she rocked herself in consternation. Mark stood beside her glumly.

"But she's not, Arturo," Lionel snapped harshly. "If she was, we'd know by now. Have some faith in her, will you?"

"She's just a girl. Who's to say she knows exactly what she's doing, and what's ahead of her?"

"Azariel is smart, okay?" Ben defended her briskly. "He's quick-thinking and intuitive. He's been in tough situations before that he's managed to wriggle out of. He always finds a way, so right now, we just have to trust in him that Sia will be alright."

"And if she doesn't survive?" Arturo asked meekly.

Lionel's eyes darkened as he took a step forward. "Then we'll just have to bring her back from the dead, won't we?"


	16. The Archer

**AN: **Ahhhh I'm so sorry for the wait on this chapter! I've been writing every day, I swear. Usually I finish with a chapter a lot sooner than 2-3 weeks, but unfortunately I was caught up in a lot of things recently. The new spring quarter of my college has begun, and there was also a very unexpected death in my family. Let's just say that there were a lot of available distractions. Anyhoo, I do hope this chapter is alright. There was a ton of editing involved. o_o A lot of re-writing as well. It was a very frustrating chapter, to say the least.

Again, I apologize for the wait. Hopefully this chapter is satisfactory

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

**The Archer**

_**Azariel**_

Azariel, his wrists bound with chain and his arms held by two men on each side, walked patiently and without a show of concern. The guards were silent—unreactive, except for the few wary glances shared between them. They knew exactly who they were dealing with, and no one was particularly happy about how calm Azariel was in the face of doom.

Azariel was no ordinary captive. They weren't going to take him to the Dungeons like an average criminal—no, they were bringing him to the King.

When they brought him into the Court, however, it went surprisingly unnoticed. There was no dramatic entrance, no significant last-resort escapes. It was quiet and ordinary. The room was nearly empty aside from a very few, and Azariel remained pleasant as ever.

"I—I apologize, your Majesty. We did the best we could. She… escaped through the mining tunnels and they collapsed. We were unable to catch her." A guard sat on his knees, shaking, his hands inches from King Domonic's feet who was standing proudly, his back to Azariel, his stance quivering with fury.

King Domonic was a dark man. Not just in his mindset, but as something that seemed to consume him entirely. His skin was a grayish black, just like his piercing onyx eyes and lank hair. He was tall, with a warrior's figure about him. His wings glittered like shadowed stars, each feather glinting metallically amongst the other.

Right now, his wings were ruffling in anger. He was a man taught on the principles of war and battle—blood was his salvation and he didn't like those who stood in his way.

"You lost her?" He spoke, his voice low and rasping.

"She can fight, your Majesty…"

Azariel couldn't help but smile a little bit. _Of course she could fight, _he mused. I _was the one who taught her. _

King Domonic immediately turned and grasped at a table, throwing it up with a roar. Silver plates and dishes crashed to the floor in an incredibly loud heap. "_AND YOU CANNOT?!"_

The guard shuddered with terror. "My King—"

Domonic sneered and kicked the man in the face, causing him to fall back into the fallen mess. He looked at the guards standing in rows, as directly instructed, as they watched the scene with blank eyes. _"Kill_ him."

"No, please—!" The soldier cried out. But the nearest guard grasped their fellow companion with the strength of a giant. In one final second, they took his head and twisted it, snapping it with a sick crunch and killing him. They let him drop to the floor as servants carried him out and the lone guard regained their position.

_Pathetic_, Azariel thought as he watched in amusement. Domonic paced the room, his hands lost in his black wiry hair. The guards holding Azariel captive remained quiet, as if afraid to speak up.

The entire situation was silly, in Azariel's opinion.

A magnificent portrait of the late King Pantomon hung above them, and the dead King's eyes were the type that followed you everywhere. Voice breaking, Domonic yelled up to the portrait in fury. "She avoids me, father! She strangles my pride and throws me to the ground like I am nothing but a child. What do I do? How do I catch a venomous snake?!"

He dropped to his knees in a pleading fashion. The guards dared not watch; Azariel did, however, soaking up the free entertainment. Of course no one dared to confront the idea of having an insane man for a King. They just stood, neutrally expressionless, as if they held no care in the world.

Well, except for their lives.

"Father…" Domonic croaked out as he hung his head back. Raw tears glistened in his reddened eyes. His hands were folded together in a praying motion. "Tell me what to do. Show me how I can destroy this beastly witch. Help me protect your honor!"

But, as expected of many but Domonic, the portrait of the old mighty King did not reply.

"Your Majesty," one of the guards on Azariel's right spoke, his voice booming among the vast Court. "We have brought you the accomplice of the woman."

King Domonic's body stilled, except for the slow, dangerous rise of his head. Azariel couldn't see his expression from behind, but the King's wings spiked in acknowledgement, spreading in a threatening fashion. His voice was low and malignant, "Are you sure?"

"Yes, your Majesty," the guard answered quickly. "We captured him at the sight of the infiltration."

Azariel watched as the King stood from his kneel, his movements slow and cautious. Admittedly, it was difficult to interpret what thoughts were stirring in his regal head. When the King turned to face them, his dark expression turned into one of shock. His wide, serpentine eyes were fixated on Azariel in disbelief.

Azariel giggled.

_"You."_ The King growled.

"What's the matter?" Azariel asked with a flirtatious tilt of his head, "Don't remember me?"

"It's _you,"_ Domonic spat out coldly, glaring at Azariel with a new murderous look. Something in the air shifted; dangerous and frightening to anyone who was not brave enough to face an angry King. "How coincidental,_ General_, to meet you once again in chains. Here I was, believing that the precious Sephorian Princess was strolling around with a simple traitor. Now I see a man worth almost just as much as she."

"I was beginning to wonder if you wouldn't recognize me. That would have been a pity."

"How dare you come before me, your King, after what you've done?" Domonic strolled forward suddenly, fury burning in his eyes.

"The part about Siarya?" Azariel asked innocently. "Or everything before?"

Something hard and metallic hit the side of his head. Unable to block the blow, he would have crashed to the floor if the guards weren't holding him up. Blood trickled down the round of his cheek as his injury pulsed with throbbing new pain, but Azariel only laughed gleefully at the sensation.

"You, with all your lies and deceit," Domonic spat. "With your manipulative, sociopathic tendencies to kill and hide like the coward you are—how is it that after spending so long in hiding, untrackable, untraceable, completely and expertly out of range, that you slip up so carelessly?"

"Oh, but friend, what could you possibly mean?" Azariel inquired.

"You walked into Vortrean lands without even a mask to disguise yourself. Even you could not be that foolish," Domonic said, giving Azariel a dark, withering look. "The openness of your identity, your blatant conversing with the commoners, the man with the chest—"

"Yes, he was as helpful as could be—"

"He turned you in." Domonic interrupted.

Azariel raised a brow. "I am completely betrayed by this item of information. The pain overwhelms me."

"You know more than you're telling, don't you?" King asked. His face loomed over Azariel's, their breath mingling. "You know exactly what _she's_ doing, I bet. It's about her sister, isn't it? Know this, General—I will _always_ be one step ahead of her plans. I have soldiers who will have found your little girl by now and they'll be back soon enough with her pumping heart."

Azariel leaned forward, grinning with his sing-song voice, "Or their own."

The King roared and Azariel was given another dizzying blow. "You dare contradict the King?! _You do not tease me! You do not betray me!"_

"I already did," he snarled. Spit flew from his lips as he spoke. "_Twice."_

Domonic stared at him, his chest heaving with anger. "You will pay for what you've done to my father."

"I didn't have to _do_ anything," Azariel replied. "I just… gave the Sephorians a tip."

"Your actions led to the destruction of my father's reign."

Azariel's expression was blank. "And?"

Domonic just stared at him.

And then Azariel asked, "Have you ever wondered why most people cannot detect the face of evil when it's in their presence?"

"What?" Domonic asked, his words choked.

"Have you?"

"Of course!" Domonic sputtered. "I see it in your eyes."

"And it is said that the eyes are the windows to the soul. Very astute of you."

Domonic's nostrils flared in anger. He grabbed Azariel by his collar and raised him up, his dark eyes burning into Azariel's golden ones. "If you think you can stall your fate, then you would be mistaken. I'm not letting you out of my sight again."

"It's because there's evil in all of us." Azariel said.

"What?"

"The answer to the question," he replied. "People don't recognize evil because there's already a bit of evil inside them. We're all dark, mewling beasts with blackened hearts, crying for a light source. Some think that they're pure, but one can only be pure if their light cannot diminish. Light is the absence of darkness, my King, and no one here as a scrap of it inside their pitiful, pathetic vessels."

King Domonic studied Azariel for a moment or two. Then he beckoned the guards forward. "Give our long-lost General a proper welcoming and then throw him in the execution dungeon with the little Sephorian Princess. I'd like Siarya to witness their fates together."

The guards held Azariel by his arms that were pinned uncomfortably against himself. They pulled him up off of his knees with his head forced back. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, his voice ringing out across the Court as he shouted, "Heed my words, King! Your devotion to your precious father shall be the death of you."

"And your devotion to your wretched Princess will be the end of you, and your sinister morality." The King retorted.

"Ah, but that's the misconception," Azariel called back with a smile. The guards began to drag him away, and the sound of his voice could be heard even as he was taken out of the room, "I am devoted to no one!"

"She has until the Summer Solstice," Domonic spoke as he ignored Azariel's shouts, his arms crossed as if he were declaring this for the first time. His mood was now pleasantly heightened. "She must return to me. I don't care if she's dead or alive."

"And the prisoners?" An older man, wearing a dark maroon robe, questioned from the other side of the room. The place was crowded with incoming onlookers as soon as Azariel was dragged out of the room.

"It's simple," he answered cheerfully. "She comes back to me alive; they'll be executed before her very eyes. If she is brought to me dead, then they'll certainly still be executed. But of course, after they see her twisted and battered heart."

"The Sephorian Royals believe that you will return the youngest Princess to safety if Siarya comes back to you."

"I don't give a rat's ass about what the Sephorian's believe," Domonic snarled at him, immediately turning his body in emphasis. "Let them come with full fury; I will beat them down to the ground and have them bow at my feet. It is time for this war to end. I will take their crown and make their lands my own, their children as my servants, and their women as my maidens. I will hunt down every single last Royal and bathe in their blood until they are nothing more but ashes."

Every single man and woman in the room bowed in unison to the King's declaration. "To ashes."

He raised his head up high. "The Drovanians will break the dawn."

~.~

Azariel was thrust roughly into one of the cells in the rusty floored dungeons. After chaining him up against the filthy stone wall, the guards slid the stone-barred doors shut and locked them. Giving Azariel one last dirty glance, they left to patrol the perimeter of the prison.

He grunted as he pushed himself up against a stone wall. His torso was beaten and bloodied, along with his face. He had a split lip, a little bit of a black eye, and a few broken ribs. But he wasn't bothered—they were mendable.

A small whimpering sound caught his attention from across the dungeon cell. It was dark and shadowed, but he managed to make out a small crouching figure in the deepest corner. He knew, according to Domonic's announcement that he was thrown into the same prison cell as Siarya's youngest sister, Eriana. Of course Domonic would place him here; he was too convinced that Eriana's weak state would cause him grief. Did the King believe that Azariel's emotions would consume him?

Domonic should have remembered his peculiar intolerance for remorse.

Azariel watched the crying figure for a few moments. He leaned his head back against the wall, shaking it slightly. "I didn't take Siarya's sister to be a coward."

The noises stopped. Silence hung in the air until the sounds of shackled chains clunked together. A young girl appeared, strictly around eleven, with cuffs around her wrists and gray bags under her large doe-eyes. Her shoulder-length straight hair had obviously been soft and silky once, but now it was dark with dirt and tangled around her round head. Her face was stained with grime and streaks where tears had left their mark. She still wore a ripped gown, now filthy, from the Hollow back in Sephoria. An expression of glimmering hope filled her. "You know Sia?"

His eyes glimmered curiously. "Little girl, you've been kept in the dark."

~.~

_**Siarya**_

Siarya soared over the mountains, squinting through the obscure darkness that consumed her vision. Snow was beginning to tickle her face lightly from above, as if it wasn't cold enough already. All she wore was her black leather and thick cloak that helped a little bit, but not much against the freezing altitude of the mountain tops.

Once the shock of the recent events had died down, Siarya was engulfed with the overwhelming sense of dread. Everything had gone wrong—the trip to Vortrea, Stellania's assistance (which was to no avail, now), Azariel's help into the Castle—it was all torn to shreds. She was sure that Domonic had expected her to come for Eriana; the whole Summer Solstice declaration proved that. But now he knew that she planned to break into the Castle, or at least he will know once Stellania informs him of everything Siarya had told her.

There was no way that Stellania would keep Siarya's plans hidden from the King. She'd do anything to save her own skin.

Siarya began to regret everything.

And now, she was lost in the Drovanian wilderness with no sense of direction and no idea where she was heading. Plus, her shoulder was throbbing, and she wasn't sure if she'd dislocated it or not. She wouldn't be able to say until she figured out where she was actually _going_ towards.

Azariel had been her compass, and now he was gone. Dead, for all she knew. Her stomach clenched at the thought.

_I'll go back for him, _she decided. _I'll go back, save Eriana, save Azariel, and we can go back home._

Home… where family resided. Her, Eriana, and Azariel. Siarya felt warm at the thought.

But right now, settling down was not an option. Azariel was partly right—compassion was weakness, and she was _not_ going to let it eat at her mind. She was going to rescue Eriana properly and get out alive, Azariel in tow. Siarya was not part of Eriana's family anymore.

The sister that Eriana loved was gone.

Siarya sniffed and wiped at her runny nose. The freezing winds numbed her skin and it was becoming hard to see through the growing white of the snow. Her teeth were chattering and her hands stung with the cold; she needed to find a place to stay, _quickly._ Drovania, with its darkness and lack of warmth, was very prone to blizzards.

Her face burned as heavier snow made contact. In a matter of a few seconds, the sky was pouring its wet, windy chill. It fought against her, pulling at the weight of her wings, slowly deteriorating her self-control. Cursing, Siarya flapped her wings roughly, maintaining her glide.

Siarya twisted her body around, her eyes searching rapidly for a place to stay. But the blizzard blinded her—everywhere was a mix of gray and white, blended with nightly darkness. She couldn't even see the mountains anymore. Swearing again under her breath, she darted downwards for a better attempt, only to be swept up in another gust of wind.

_Just my luck, _Siarya thought irritably. _I get chased out by fire, only to fly into a blizzard. _

Perhaps she could fly this one out. Drovanian blizzards came in waves—they lasted for a few hours, and then slowed for another few.

That was a risky plan, though. If the blizzard didn't die down like she hoped it will, she could freeze.

Another push of icy wind slammed into her from the side, and her body did a full tumble in the air. Dizzy, Siarya righted herself, her back muscles burning with the start of exhaustion. She ignored it—there was no time for slowing down.

She turned in the air, searching for a direction to begin with. But everywhere looked the same; clouded with snow. Blank, empty, and quiet other than the whistling of the wind in her ears.

There was no point waiting around. She'd have to choose a direction and just go with it. Wherever she ended up, she'd deal—even if it landed her back in Vortrea. So with a huff of breath, Siarya turned towards her right and urged herself to fly forward.

But then, suddenly, something large and black burst through the wild snowfall. Siarya gasped, stopping suddenly in the air, her wings thrashing violently to back up in a sharp halt. Around the frightening figure spread out a pair of petrifying, raven-like wings that beat against the winds with the powerful ease, as if warning her to stop in its presence. Snow whirled around them from the push of both their wings, engulfing them in cloud-like whiteness, and Siarya could see nothing but the dark figure's gleaming eyes.

Eyes widening in realization, Siarya forced herself to hold her ground. This was no Drovanian soldier from before—no, she had lost all of them when the mining tunnels had crashed. This was someone else.

The figure didn't attack her. Instead, it stared at her like it was studying her, like it enjoyed intimidating her. Siarya hovered in the air, her wings burning, as she faced the Drovanian without a sound. Their eyes met, blue against black, and she wasn't even sure if she was breathing.

The mountain suddenly groaned and Siarya had to fight to keep her balance again in the air. The pounding snow that hurtled from the smoky skies engulfed her vision, making it nearly impossible to understand what was happening. But the Drovanian apparently understood the event to its fullest extent as they spread their wings even further and dove upwards.

Before Siarya could fully comprehend what was happening, she finally saw something—_movement_. But surprise quickly turned to dread.

A gigantic wave of snow was racing down the mountains, towards _her,_ flying so near to the rocky masses. It came so fast that it sucked at her feet as it chased her.

She knew what was going to happen a second before it did.

It sucked her in like a gravitational pull. She fought against this avalanche, but her skin immediately turned numb and her bones seemed to freeze against her body. She couldn't breathe; the snow filled her mouth and nose, choking her, and burned her eyes with its sharp cold. Desperately trying to find air, she let out her arms in hopes of finding any solid object. But it was all tough snow that forcefully bent her arms and wings in painful positions, causing her shoulder to sear with sharp pain. Iciness bit at her bare skin as she felt the harsh violence of the avalanche rip at her clothing.

The elements of nature were trapping her; first fire, and now snow. The snow had been merciless and now it was going to kill her. She was within a fast whirlpool of ice, and there was no escape. She was dizzy, and now tired, but she kept kicking and digging until she would find a way to get up onto the surface again.

She was stuck. How far she was buried within, she couldn't tell. All she knew was that she couldn't last much longer without her lungs bursting.

Black spots clouded her vision; she knew this sign. She was going to lose consciousness. She gave out a muffled cry of desperation when she thought of that dreaded moment where she would become lost to the wilderness. She didn't want to die.

She _couldn't._

But then she felt something wondrous. Something hard and intense wrapped itself around her torso and pulled her up with such strength that it almost seemed unrealistic. She felt wind against her cheeks and she began coughing up thick gobs of snow. Air burst into her lungs.

Taking it all in with a light-headed dizziness, she hardly noticed that she was dangling in the sky. Wet snow still rained against her but she was not cold anymore. She was just numb.

She felt herself fall against something hard and rocky. Somewhere deep in her mind, she registered that they were inside a cave. She curled up onto the damp, rough floor as she gasped for breath. She coughed, water spurting from her lips. Her body was quaking with chill and her limbs felt too heavy to move, like her bones were made out of stone.

She turned on her side to see the man standing there, just as a silhouette in front of the cave's eerie entrance. She wiped sodden clumps of dark golden hair away from her eyes with shaking hands—hands that were too pale. The very gesture felt like she was lifting fifty pounds.

Siarya couldn't think. Her mind was too jumbled with incoherent thoughts. Her body wouldn't stop moving; her muscles were vibrating, jolting under her skin, and her stomach felt so hollow that it hurt. She was so unbearably _cold. _

The Drovanian in the cave said something she couldn't hear. It was a male voice, sounding far away and distant. When he approached her, it was like a shadow blocking out the Starlight—cold and terrifying.

"…dying." She heard him say, his voice going in and out of focus.

She opened her mouth to speak, but the only words that came out were jumbled and nonsensical. She urged herself to move away from the Drovanian man, but her body wouldn't obey.

"…Need to…" She heard him speak again.

Then he knelt forward to untie the laces of her blouse. Siarya_ did_ find the energy to jolt backwards then, yelping in protest.

He shook his head at her in disapproval. "Not going to do anything."

But she didn't believe him. She kicked her leg out at him, but it was feeble and weak, and it didn't stop him from pulling at her jacket. She twisted away from him, rage bubbling in her abdomen. Her heart began to pound harder.

He managed to take her jacket off, to her despair. He grabbed her forearms when she moved to hit him, the action bringing sharp pain to her shoulder, her hands clenched with fury. His voice was low, "_Stop_. You're wasting energy you don't have."

He moved to tug at her soaked blouse. Something like a sharp hiss escaped Siarya's mouth, and she kicked him again. This time, she made contact with his knee and he winced. He paused, sighing irritably, before retreating backwards. "You need to stop fighting me, Siarya."

Then Siarya managed to spit out the first coherent word she could muster_, "Never."_

His eyes narrowed, and he stared at her for a few moments in silence before turning around. Hesitant relief filled her as he increased the distance between them. He walked towards a small heap on the floor, something Siarya didn't notice before until now.

It was a firepit. A very old one, by the looks of it. Most likely incapable of creating a fire, but the Drovanian man was looking at it like it was a gift from the heavens.

The man leaned down and began to work with the blackened char. If there was any wood left in the pit, it had to be gone, Siarya figured. But the man continued anyways—and just like that, a fire rose from the bits. He removed his hands and brushed the soot off onto his pants.

New warmth tickled their faces as the flames crackled and popped. Siarya let out a strained sigh. She didn't know how he did it, but she couldn't even give a damn.

The man picked up Siarya's jacket and laid it close to the fire. Siarya watched him warily, and continued to do so when he began to move towards her again. She automatically pulled away from him.

He stopped in his tracks, his jaw clenching. "Your clothes are soaked with ice water. They are going to keep you cold, Siarya."

She didn't want to know how he knew her name. She didn't want to care. All she knew was that she didn't trust a word coming out of his mouth.

She stubbornly continued to shiver.

"Fine," he said then. He pulled off his own jacket and threw it at her. She didn't have the reflexes to catch it, and it smacked her partly in the face. "Unless you want to die from hyperthermia, put that on and sit by the fire."

Siarya held the jacket in her hands for several moments, contemplating on whether to wear it or not. The jacket's material was strangely heated. It was leathery and scaled, and it glimmered silver in the light.

"Wear it." He demanded, his voice sharper this time. She scowled and reluctantly slipped it on. It was very difficult, considering her shoulder didn't seem to be working.

But when she got it on, he had to admit the heat of the jacket was like she'd been thrown into the heavens. It was _glorious._ Past the stench of woods and—whiskey?—she could pretend that the jacket didn't belong to a Drovanian man. The very idea made her nauseous, but the warmth surrounding her was too soothing to care.

She felt her heartbeat begin to slow. Slowly, but surely, she inched towards the fire. Her breathing, quick and short, started to regulate.

She forced herself to peer back up at the man. He seemed unfazed by the cold, and was standing still as stone, his arms crossed grimly. He was wearing the same kind of leathery, scaled material of his jacket, and it covered his entire upper body.

The more they remained in silence, with him standing unwaveringly and Siarya sitting by the fire, the more confusion began to rattle through Siarya's core. The more seconds that passed gave Siarya time to realize that this man, this _Drovanian_ man, was the only one there to have pulled her from the avalanche, inevitably saving her life.

This Drovanian rescued her.

But _why?_

He had tried to take her clothes off, which was understandably nerve-wracking. But then he'd taken her jacket and had placed it by the fire. He'd tried to take her blouse, but she hadn't let him—and he had actually stopped. Maybe he didn't want to hurt her like she thought.

None of this made a lick of sense.

Siarya peered up to watch him. He was staring into the fire, still and quiet, but he didn't look lost in thought. He just looked very tense.

Drovanians had frightened her a year ago, and admittedly, they still continued to scare her. They were always so strong, so fierce and unwilling to surrender even when they knew they were going to die. Like the guards in the forest, who she had killed without thought, without any reason other than protecting the group. Doing what Azariel taught her like a blind fool.

They'd have killed her without a thought, too. Perhaps no one was innocent.

Under his mask, Siarya could see this man had a strong, defined face and high cheek bones that only made him appear tougher. His skin, a gray muddy brown, was adorned with intricate black markings that trailed down his temple, neck, arms, and most likely his chest. Siarya's own markings were a translucent silvery white and consisted of swirls and gracious patterns, but his were menacing and spiked like barbed wire. His hair was such a dark thick brown that it appeared to be almost black.

His arms and broad shoulders suggested great muscle, but his body was lean to where he wasn't overly-muscled at all. Not like many other Drovanian's she's seen before. His fingers, currently curled over his crossed arms, were calloused and nimble, which suggested that he had been doing physical work for most of his life.

And then there were his wings; ivory black and strangely enchanting, each dark feather glittering as if they were made out of sharp diamonds. She was sure that if she touched one, the energy of his wings—like a smoke—would be dangerous enough to slice open her skin. Then again, she wasn't sure what Drovanian's wings were like. They felt menacing and intimidating to stand near, and the very thought of touching their feathers seemed nauseating. The extended soul of a Drovanian was the last part she wanted to bother touching.

They sat in silence, and eventually Siarya stopped shivering. She held her shoulder with her opposite hand, numbly wondering if she should look at it. Or put it back in its place, if it was really dislocated like she suspected. But that would involve taking off the jacket, and she wasn't quite ready yet. So she sat still, unmoving and quiet. The man, glancing at her every once and a while, and Siarya, not knowing what to say. The only Drovanian she had ever talked to, _really_ talked to, was Azariel.

And, well, Azariel was the opposite of normal.

Why didn't the Drovanian man say something? _He_ was the one who rescued her, after all. He should be giving her an explanation on everything—the avalanche, the fire, the lack of hostility. But instead, he just stood there like a rock, unmoving and expressionless. Like he felt uncomfortable about the whole situation.

It wasn't fair, Siarya decided.

Siarya bit her tongue, noticing how her teeth weren't chattering anymore. Testing her ability to speak, she let out an even sigh of breath, calm and devoid of shuddering. She glanced at the man, and then at the fire. Then she looked at him again.

She opened her mouth, and then clamped it shut with a frown. What could she possibly say?

Her eyes fell upon him and stayed there. She wracked her mind for something to say. He didn't seem to notice her studying him.

"Your staring is unnecessary." He said then, his rumbling voice shattering the silence. Siarya blushed in embarrassment. _Maybe he did notice. _

When Siarya finally spoke, her voice was hoarse and cracked, "Why did you save me?"

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he walked slowly towards the fire, the flames illuminating his masked face malevolently. His dark eyes glittered in the light. He didn't look at her when he said, "I've been blackmailed into finding you."

Siarya raised her brows in surprise. If she was expecting an answer, that definitely wasn't one. "Blackmailed?"

"By a Witch," he replied evenly. "She cursed me because she wanted me to find you."

_Cursed?_ She stared at him in disbelief. "You're jesting."

He finally turned his head to look her straight in the eyes. His expression was serious—not a single hint of humor. "I am being as blatant as I can. I have no interest in holding back my predicament, especially when it revolves around the likes of you."

"But…" Siarya started, but lost her words in puzzlement. This man had just rescued her from death, and _this _was the excuse he was giving her? What kind of man would risk his life for his enemy? She swallowed nervously. "W-What does a Witch want with me?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?" Siarya asked with a frown. She tightened her grip on his jacket, pulling it closer around her body. "What do you mean, you don't know?"

"I don't know," he repeated flatly, as if bored with the entire situation. "Something about a prophecy. And light," he paused, as if suddenly drawn into thought. "And you."

"Me?"

"Something about your destined path. About who you are," he explained a bit further. His eyes moved back to the fire. "She came to me and told me that if I didn't find you, her curse would kill me. So here I am."

Siarya stared at him for a few long moments. What would a Witch want with _her?_ Was it the Witch that her mother had contacted a year ago, back in the Council Nest? Her name was Narcissa. She'd spoken to Siarya, warning her of bad things to come. She was the only Witch that Siarya could think of.

The Sisterhood of Witches were a terrifying group. If they wanted Siarya, then it couldn't be good at all.

"How…" Siarya said, slowly forming the question. "How did you find me?"

The man's lips actually quirked up in a hint of a smile. "Your escape into the mining tunnels was spoken of everywhere. It wasn't hard to figure out where you'd be going if you survived."

"And how'd you know that I survived?"

"Because I wasn't dead yet." He replied with ease. Siarya, however, didn't understand.

"You weren't..?" She asked.

The man noticed her confusion, and then said, "The Witch told me that if you were to meet your death, then I would take your place. Which means that I would die instead."

Siarya blinked, taken back by his words. "So if I die, I'll still… live?"

A huff of breath left his lips. "Lucky you."

But not for him, Siarya supposed. If his words about the Witch were true, then she couldn't help but feel a little guilty. "This Witch… what is her name?"

"It's Cassara." He answered. His eyes flitted back to her, as if searching for any hint of recognition in her face.

Most likely to his disappointment, however, Siarya said truthfully, "I've never heard of her."

"Figures," he mumbled. He shook his head, "This Witch seems to have a habit of making things difficult."

Siarya honestly couldn't think of a single reason for why a random Witch named Cassara wished for her presence. She didn't even _know_ anyone named Cassara. Frankly, Siarya had nothing that a Witch would want—no powers, no gifts, no magical objects. How could she, after living in a desolate forest for a year?

Could the man be lying? Siarya snuck another glance at him. He didn't _look_ like he was deceiving her. In fact, he looked pretty pissed just to be talking to her.

Maybe this man deserved some credit. To be cursed by a Witch into finding someone he most likely despised… Siarya imagined that it'd be irritating to say the least. Of course, only if his words spoke the truth.

Then, more kindly, she asked, "What is your name?"

The man stiffened considerably, as if she had just asked an inappropriately personal question. "You don't need to know."

"But…you _saved_ me."

"It would've been very bad for me if I hadn't," he reminded her. His body swayed a little bit, and Siarya suddenly felt the urge to hit him. "I am not your friend."

"So, you're telling me that I am to be forced to accompany you to see this imaginary Witch, while my sister is in grave danger—which you should know, sir, if you're so _well-endowed _with the gossip of your kind—without even telling me your name?" Siarya asked angrily. She was glaring at him from the ground, her body huddled in a ball, when he turned his head sharply at the icy tone of her voice.

"Yes." He replied simply.

Siarya scoffed, "Then I will not be forced to act like your slave along some ridiculous journey to see a Witch that probably doesn't exist—"

The man took a step forward suddenly, and Siarya halted in her words. His voice was dangerously low, "I'm not asking anything of you. I am _telling_ you what you are going to do, whether you like it or not. I don't give a rat's ass about how you feel."

"You can't make me," Siarya argued then. "I'm already on a quest. I won't just leave everything behind to go with you."

"You have to." He snapped.

"I don't have to do shit," she replied back. "In fact, I think you're looking for the wrong place. You don't need a Witch, you need to be put in an Asylum—"

"I'm not crazy."

"You're crazy if you believe in destined paths and prophecies!" Siarya said in exasperation.

"The Witch mentioned those things, yes. You asked me why she'd want anything from you, and I told you what she told me. That's all," he said. He froze momentarily and then peered further into the cave, deep in the darkness. "I never said I believed in those things. I don't even believe in fate. But I _do _believe in magic, and if bringing you to this Witch can keep me alive, then I'll bring you to the damn Witch even if I have to throw you over my shoulder and carry you there myself."

Siarya sneered, "You'll do no such thing."

"No?" He raised a brow challengingly. "You think I care about what you have to say?"

"I think you need my consent." Siarya replied.

The man's face went blank with puzzlement. Then, with an indignant look, he spoke heatedly, frustration emanating from his tone like waves, "Your _consent_?" He let out a halted, unamused laugh. "You've never stopped being so arrogant, have you?"

"I'm not arrogant," Siarya snapped violently. But there wasn't much intimidating about her when she was curled up in _his _jacket, feeling as feeble as a twig. She was arguing with him while looking up from the _floor_ for Gods' sake. "You know my name, so you know who I am. Which means you know what I'm doing here, outside of hiding. Which means that you should know that I wouldn't go with you, not _ever_, for _any_ reason, while my sister is imprisoned."

The man visibly swallowed. Almost like some angry tic, Siarya noticed. He remained silent, and she was glad that she had taken his words from him. She was glad that she was winning the argument, even from the ground where she sat childishly, recovering from the cold. From hyperthermia, he had said. _Good grief._

It would be so easy for him to kill her right now. Her limbs felt weak and heavy, and she knew he could overpower her in a second. He could strangle her to death with such ease as if she were a five-year old child. As a Drovanian, he should want to.

She didn't believe in this story about a Witch. It seemed too far-fetched. But a part of her couldn't ignore that he wasn't trying to murder her when she knew he could.

Which meant that he _believed_ he was cursed.

_Gods, what if he's crazy?_ She wondered.

He could just be some stranger, some bounty hunter—he looked like one, and acted like one by the way he was able to find her with such ease—who wanted to turn her into King Domonic. Someone just looking for another way to gain riches. Or, he could be some insane man, believing that she was the source of his salvation.

Whoever he was, this apparently nameless man, he was dangerous. He was Drovanian, and therefore he was an enemy. Pissing him off most likely wasn't the best idea, but it's not like she could accept going with him. And, with the blizzard outside, she felt that she was going to be trapped with this man for a long while. She was going to have to watch her mouth if she wanted to live.

Of course, they'd been in the cave for five minutes, and he had already called her arrogant. He'd said that she'd never changed.

Siarya's heart stopped. He said that she'd never changed.

He _knew_ her.

_Throw out the Witch excuse_, Siarya thought. He _knew_ her, and _that _was certainly a reason to save her.

"You said that I'd never stopped being arrogant," Siarya said suddenly. He glanced at her, his expression impassive, but she could see the muscles of his jaw clench just slightly. Another tic, she noticed. "What did you mean by that?"

"You're a Sephorian Royal," he replied without hesitation. "It's easy to assume that you've always been arrogant."

"But you said it like you were expecting differently," Siarya replied. "Were you?"

"I expected to see a different person after they'd lived in Drovanian wilderness for a year, yes. Does that surprise you?"

"I think it might explain why you may wish to save my life," Siarya answered. "I think you don't want me to know your name because you're afraid that I'll recognize you. That's why you're wearing that mask."

"No Drovanian man would be foolish enough to provide his name to a Sephorian Royal, _Renette,"_ he spat, using her last name as if to emphasize his distaste for her family. "If I were capable of killing you without harming myself, I'd have poisoned the jacket you're wearing now."

Siarya shifted warily in the jacket, knowing fairly well how easy it'd be for him to kill her. _Again,_ with that dreaded thought.

She studied him. There weren't many Drovanian men who she knew. His face was covered with black mask, only displaying his eyes and his mouth. His brows were constantly furrowed, as if he were concentrating on something, or always angry. She could see that he had a strong jaw, full lips, and the beginning of stubble after not shaving for a few days. She tried to imagine him without the mask, but the perceived face was drawing a blank in her mind.

She couldn't recognize him. Maybe they'd met before under circumstances where she'd only seen glimpses of his face.

Then, a horrific idea burst into her mind. _Poison. _

"Oh my Gods," she exclaimed. She stood up, the jacket falling from her shoulders onto the floor. The icy chill of the cave engulfed her and she felt frozen again. Her legs were so wobbly that she nearly fell over—and the man lurched forward, his hand outstretched as if to catch her, and she stumbled away from him, grasping onto the cave wall for support. Her shoulder cried in protest. Her heart was pounding against her ribcage. "It's _you."_

The man froze, his arm still reaching out to her.

"You're him," Siarya breathed in disgust. And then wild fury, "You're the one who kidnapped me."

His body seemed to relax slightly, his lips parting in surprise.

"You're the reason that the engagement between the King and I failed," Siarya continued. If her legs didn't feel like water, she'd be attacking him right now. She'd be ripping him apart. "You're the reason that the Kingdoms are falling into ruin. You're the reason I was exiled, you're the reason why I am the way I am. It's all your fault, you self-serving son of a bitch!"

The man grew limp and dropped his arm. He took a step back, his eyes never leaving hers.

"I'd never done anything to you," Siarya ranted on. Her throat felt swollen as if she were going to cry, but she willed her eyes to stay dry. "You attacked my carriage without a reason. You killed those men, you dragged me to the Castle as a prisoner. And then they tortured me, starved me out for days. The only reason I'm even _alive_ is because I escaped! And yet, here you are, ready to take me back again. Is that your game? Does it turn you on, thinking about the things that'll be done to me in that pit? Does it make you feel like a man?"

He wasn't saying a damn word. _Why wasn't he saying anything? _Siarya thought furiously.

Her body was shaking. She wasn't sure if it was from rage or from the cold.

"_Speak,_ you coward." Siarya spat, hating how her voice broke.

The man just stood there, staring at her. She couldn't tell what he was thinking. Was he ashamed? Did he feel remorse for his actions?

"What's wrong with you?" Siarya asked. She wiped at her eyes, and her palm came back wet. "Say something, or I swear to the Gods, I will kill you. I will tear you apart."

That seemed to stir the man from his daze. He tilted his head just slightly in acknowledgement. "I am not the man you say I am."

Siarya's breath halted in her throat. "What?"

"This man you accuse me of being," he replied slowly. "I am not him."

"You're not…" she whispered in confusion. Her stomach seemed to drop, and with that, her legs failed her. She fell back against the wall. This time, the man didn't move to catch her. He just watched, and she let him.

She wracked her brain for familiar faces. Familiar voices, familiar people. If he wasn't her kidnapper, who else could he be?

The only other person he could be… Siarya looked up at him.

And then she recognized him.

She forced herself to stand up again, her palms digging painfully into the rock of the cave. Her legs trembled, and the man spoke—Gods, she could recognize his voice now—in protest, and she felt him come nearer to her, but she didn't push him away. "You need to stop moving around if you don't want to kill yourself."

She ignored him. She just needed to see his face.

She peered up to see him looming over her, his hands raised in caution as if she were about to fall over any second. She could see his eyes up close—dark, petrifying, predator eyes. She stared into them, unblinkingly, as she raised her hand to grasp his jaw.

He shirked back in surprise, but her clutch on his jaw tightened, and she drew him closer in recognition. Her eyes widened, "You're not him," she breathed out, referring to her kidnapper. She watched him frown. "You're _him."_

He finally escaped her grasp. He rubbed his jaw, "I don't follow."

"You're the man who saved me in that tavern," Siarya replied. When he grew still, her heart jumped in satisfaction. "I'm right this time, aren't I?"

He didn't reply. That, however, was enough for Siarya.

"I can't believe it!" She cried in anger. She pushed him away with her hand, but he only stumbled backwards a little bit. That seemed to make Siarya more furious. "You tricked me! You're a _trickster!_ You, with your lies and your deception—saving me in that tavern, and then showing yourself as some—some—Drovanian _thug!"_

He raised a brow. "Again, I'm not following.

"You _attacked_ us!" Siarya replied.

"You forget that it was your little Templar friend who instigated the entire scene," the man replied crisply. "I had no intention of fighting that night."

"Sure you didn't," Siarya snapped. "Because Drovanians just stroll into Sephorian lands to go to a bar, right? There was no ulterior motive behind your presence in that tavern? You weren't, I don't know, on the _prowl?"_

"On the _what?"_

"Looking for your next Sephorian victim to slice up!" Siarya exclaimed. She pointed sharply at him, her finger digging into his stiff chest. "You're a villain, that's what you are. You manipulate people. I don't know who you think you are, but you are to stay away from me! This—this story about a Witch is ridiculous! You think I'd be stupid enough to believe that?"

He stared at her blankly, "Yes?"

Siarya gasped, and then scowled in fury. "Oh, you're a _beast _of a man!"

"That is true." He replied. If Siarya wasn't mistaken, he actually looked amused.

"I can't believe it's you, out of all the Drovanian men in this Kingdom. It just _had_ to be you," Siarya ranted on. She turned away from him, every muscle in her body urging her to get away from him, to show him who's boss, but her body didn't seem to be working. Frustrated, she began to move along the wall, nearly tumbling over as she went, "You, with your stupid bow and your stupid hidden identity. Somehow, every time I had left the Hollow, Drovanians seemed to find a way to ruin it. And they weren't even in their own Kingdom! It was _my _territory they pestered me in!"

The man didn't seem fazed. His voice was tainted with beguilement, "Calm down before you hurt yourself."

Siarya stopped and glared at him from the other side of the cave. He was watching her intently. Then, she growled, "Take off your mask."

He replied with ease, "That's not happening."

"_Take it off_." She demanded.

"No."

"Enough already!" Siarya waved her hands in a flourish. "You want to be mysterious and intimidating with your all-so-suspicious, no-name secret identity. But the game is over now. Just tell me who you are."

"I'm a hunter. I hunt things."

"We're in Drovania. _Everyone_ is a hunter in Drovania." Siarya replied flatly.

"Guess I'm just not very important then," he answered. "Not everyone can be Royalty like you."

Siarya glared at him again. "You're insufferable."

"And you'll be dead by the time the blizzard ends if you don't stop talking_,"_ he drawled. He walked to the fire and sat across from her, his forearm resting on his bent knee in a taunting position. "I just dragged you out of an avalanche. You're weak. You're cold. You need warmth and food, which I will provide for you whether you like it or not in order to keep my own hide alive."

"I'd rather die than help you." Siarya spat. She was shivering.

"Then you wouldn't be able to help your sister," he replied. She tensed at his words, and he continued, "Sit down, Siarya. I promise I won't bite."

"As if you had the backbone to do so." Siarya snapped. She knew she didn't sound very threatening, but she stood there anyways, clutching her arms in the chilly cave, shivering like a leaf. She didn't want to sit down. She didn't want his food. She didn't want anything to do with him.

But Gods, it was so _tempting._ Her stomach growled.

The jacket he had given her was lying on the ground by the fire. She stared at it for a few seconds before glancing back at him. He was watching her, and he said with an encouraging nod towards the jacket, "There's dried meat in the left pocket."

Siarya clenched her jaw and tightened her hold on her arms, willing herself to be warm. She wasn't going to give in. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. She forced herself to look away from the damned jacket and the food in its pocket. She forced herself to ignore the crackling fire six feet away from her. She was not interested in those things at all.

Not at all, whatsoever.

But her legs seemed to care, however, because she found herself sitting down by the fire and—her arms clearly betraying her as well—slipping on the man's stupid, oddly heated jacket despite the reluctance of her shoulder. Her body acted against her will, and somehow she couldn't find the power to stop herself. She did this without speaking, without even looking at the man's face, because she didn't want to see his smug expression.

Warmth began to trickle across her skin, engulfing her in sweet pleasure. The heat of the fire washed over her, and she couldn't help but close her eyes at the feeling. Her body shivered at the sudden change of temperature.

Her hand dug into the left pocket of the jacket, and just like the man said, there was a pouch of dried meat. Her stomach grumbled again, and Siarya shakily opened the pouch and began to rip the meat apart, stuffing it in her mouth. It was hard to chew, but she was too starving to care.

"So," he spoke. Siarya automatically grimaced at the sound of his voice, and he leaned back against the cave wall, his hands perched behind his head. "The Sosoris Forest, huh?"

Siarya froze, a piece of jerky halfway to her mouth. She looked up at him, "How do you know that?"

He shrugged. "The Witch told me."

She let out a breath of irritation and took a bite of the dried meat. "Sure she did. I bet she told you a lot of things."

The man visibly frowned behind his mask, "You still don't believe me, do you?"

"Should I?"

"I've helped you, haven't I?" He asked. "I saved your life. _Twice_, now."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Should I give you a kiss of gratitude?" Siarya cooed. "My poor, dissatisfied little White Knight. How could I have been so oblivious to your pain?"

The man rolled his eyes with a small shake of his head. "In terms of cause and effect? Great egoistical ignorance."

"I'm _not _egoistical.

"And the birds don't fly." He mocked without looking at her.

"If you're going to attempt to convince me to come with you to see this Witch, I suggest you make yourself at least tolerable," Siarya said in irritation. "And, assuming this is an impossible task for you, I'd give up before trying."

"Don't be foolish. You'll be accompanying me whether you want to or not."

"And you call _me_ arrogant." Siarya replied sharply.

He didn't answer. Instead, he focused more on his jerky, completely oblivious to Siarya's frustration. Or he simply didn't care. It didn't matter, because Siarya knew the outcome of this argument—and she wasn't going with him. She _wasn't._

Eriana was more important to her than whatever this man had to threaten Siarya with. Even if he kidnapped her into accompanying him, Siarya would find a way out of it. She'd kill him if she had to.

To save her sister, she'd do anything.

She drew in a great breath to calm her nerves. Her shoulder and everywhere else in her torso still pulsed painfully—she was going to have to do something about that. Avidly ignoring the man, Siarya pursed her lips, blowing air, as she bent her arm and slowly rotated it upwards.

She'd never actually done this before. Azariel had taught her how to do it, a long time ago, and she had watched Mark do it to Jesse once when he had fallen out of a tree while branching.

Of course, she could always ask the man for help. Which she was _not _planning on doing.

She bit her tongue to conceal a cry of excruciating pain; it shot through her like lightning. Tears welled up in her eyes and she let her head fall back against the wall to assuage herself. She remembered what she was supposed to do, Azariel's voice ringing condescendingly in her head, _"Move your arm from the shoulder slowly from your side to above your head. By the time you get to a point slightly above your head, your shoulder should slip back into place naturally."_

_Thanks, Az, _Siarya thought sarcastically. His advice wasn't coming through, and her shoulder wasn't relocating. And, obviously, Azariel wasn't around to lecture her about not being able to do a simple task.

Maybe she did it wrong? She shifted her arm slightly. The pain radiated throughout her muscles, and Siarya had to bite her tongue to keep from making any noise. _Gods, I hope I'm not making it worse. _

"Your shoulder is dislocated." The man's voice carried a powerful echo that danced along the looming rock walls. He said it like a statement, so annoyingly matter-of-factly, as if he were telling her a piece of information she wasn't aware of.

"Thank you for your input." Siarya replied through gritted teeth. She shifted her arm again. It had to be the angle that was the problem.

Suddenly the man was kneeling before her, dangerously invading her personal space. His eyes were narrowed, studious, and fixated on her shoulder and the bend of her arm. Siarya, already knowing what he intended to do, shirked away from him before he could speak. She growled, "Don't."

He looked irritated. "Why not?"

"Because!" Siarya exclaimed. "Imaginary curse or not, you're still a Drovanian. And your hospitality is wigging me out."

"Would you still be unnerved if I were Az?" He asked then. Siarya felt her entire body freeze, and it wasn't because of the cold. He was staring at her knowingly.

"How do you know that?" She whispered, just barely audible, her eyes wide with shock.

"That's who you were with, correct?" He answered. He moved to gently grasp her dislocated arm with his fingertips, slowly shifting the limb to a different angle. Siarya, out of pain and numbness to his previous statement, subconsciously let him. "Albeit, I don't know his full name. I don't even know who he is. But I do know that he is a Drovanian—as stated by the authorities of Vortrea. Which is such an odd combination, having a man like him as your partner. Especially when you despise our kind."

Siarya glared at him, "You don't know him like I do."

"Why?" He asked, glaring back at her. "Because he taught you to kill?"

Again, her heart skipped a beat with shock. "Who told you these things?"

"The two Sephorian companions who were wandering the Sosoris forest, talking about you," he replied with ease. His grip tightened on her arm. "Did I mention that the Witch informed me of your location within the forest? Perhaps that will trigger your belief in my words."

Siarya stared at him. She was speechless. She didn't even know what to say—how could he have known these things? No one knew about the camp's location within the forest. Azariel made sure of that. Siarya _helped _him make sure of that.

What if he was telling the truth? What if he really was cursed?

"I had to," Siarya found herself murmuring. She wasn't sure why she was defending herself, to him of all people. "I had to adapt."

"You didn't adapt," he growled at her, surprising her with his instant agitation. They made eye contact again, and a chill went up her spine. "You were observational, that's all. You had a group of Sephorians living illegally in Drovanian lands to teach you how to kill like the murderers they are."

"And you aren't one?" She snapped back, her voice cracking. She remembered how he had killed the men in the tavern. He had been so brutal, so invigorated by the blood on his hands. He wasn't innocent, either.

The man didn't reply. Instead, he pressed his weight down onto her shoulder, her arm positioned carefully in his hands. With a sharp gasp, Siarya felt her shoulder lock into place.

"You threw away everything to be with a band of liars and thieves." He said as he stood up, distancing the space between them. His voice was terse and disapproving, like a father would speak to a disobedient child.

Is that what he thought of her? A naïve, disobedient child who destroyed her engagement to a King to run away with forest rebels?

"No," Siarya replied bitterly. She shrugged his jacket back on to keep in the heat. "I threw everything away to marry the Drovanian King for the sake of two Kingdoms that didn't want to end a war in the first place. That, _archer,_ was my greatest mistake."

Siarya thought that the man was going to say something, defend his honor somehow, but he clamped his mouth shut. Then he shook his head, his eyes turning towards the dark blizzard painting the cave's entrance. He remained quiet. Siarya could see that the argument was over, and a part of her knew it was, because she knew she had been right. And it wasn't an act of pride—no, it was something she knew by fact. Her mother, as great and clever as she was, thought she could kill two birds with one stone. That was _her_ greatest mistake, because there was no way you could kill something of two things that didn't want to be killed. Not when that something was war, and the two things were two Kingdoms with enough fuel to feed the war for five more centuries.

She stared at him for a little bit longer before leaning closer to the fire. She'd made a lot of mistakes in her time. She knew that. She didn't need this stranger telling her about how messed up she was, because she already understood it clearly. She also understood that she was a little bit lost—always have been, always will be, she mused. There was a storybook of memories inside her head, all revolving around Azariel and the horrors he taught her, things she wouldn't dare bring to light. Not even to herself.

Maybe, someday, she'll tell someone what they'd done. What Azariel had taught her—_how_ he'd taught her. Maybe someday she'll tell someone about what _exactly_ she'd been doing in the year of her absence.

But for now, the very idea of it remained a solid _never. _And she wasn't about to break that oath for some beast of a man who felt it necessary to call her a prideful murderer. Like all the other Sephorians, he had said.

He just didn't understand. Siarya had never wanted to be a killer.

No matter what they thought of each other, or how much Siarya hated this nameless man, there was no way either of them could leave each other tonight. They were stuck in this cave. They'd have to wait until the blizzard cleared, which could take hours.

Siarya didn't look at him again. There was nothing to say. They both knew the severity of their situation, and how awkward it was to remain in each other's presence. So the cave remained silent. Desolate.

She was exhausted, too. The heat of his jacket and the warmth of the fire was a lullaby to her senses. She ate all of the dried meat, barely calming her stomach, and she still felt weak to the core. Her body yearned for rest that she wasn't willing to give—not when there was a Drovanian present. She couldn't sleep. It'd be too dangerous.

So they sat there in front of the fire, listening to the whistling of the wind and the night as it passed, both unaware of the danger that was soon going to meet them.


End file.
